


Entreißen

by SchonAndDying



Category: Villainous (Cartoon)
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Gore, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Major Character Injury, Murder, Non-Consensual, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Past Abuse, Recovery, Religious Content, Running Away, Slow Burn, Torture, Trauma, Violence, i will put in the note when i swear, very little
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2020-01-25
Packaged: 2020-03-17 16:05:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 17
Words: 85,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18968629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SchonAndDying/pseuds/SchonAndDying
Summary: BlackHat should have known he wasn't immune to the atrocities of other villains. That just because he was prominent in American soil, does not mean European villains will not hesitate to step on his toes and try to undermine him. He should have known just how easy Dr. Flug was to kidnap.





	1. Konvention

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This story can get a bit dark in some places and may be uncomfortable. Read at your own discretion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is on a temporary hiatus, this does not mean that it will discontinued. I do plan to pick this up at a later date once again.

After a long time of repeating the same tasks, one will grow comfortable. Rest easy knowing what the next day may entail, knowing what the week may bring. Such a thing happened in the BlackHat Manor.

The fear, for Flug, became part of the routine. The staying up late, the cans of energy drinks, the coffees, the sore back, fingers, neck. The yelling from both Dementia and BlackHat became white noise. 

Of course, he never produced the same thing twice. BlackHat would never allow that, he wanted to keep Flug at his most productive. He saw little benefits of making the same thing a thousand times, as opposed to making a thousand different things once.

Tomorrow, Flug and BlackHat were to leave the manor to travel to Europe to attend both the yearly auction and 'get-together' organized by Europe's most notorious felons. When BlackHat first announced they would attend both the American and European conventions, Flug was suspicious of them.

They could get away with traveling to the American convention. They didn't have to pass any borders and had been to the usual convention place enough it was a setting in the teleportation pad in the lab. However, the convention held in Germany was more of a risk.

They could not teleport outside the building to bypass traveling through Belgium or the Netherlands. So they had to travel conventionally with another villain. Flug always loved being in the plane, especially when he was permitted to sit near the front and by a window. 

However, he didn't appreciate that BlackHat didn't make friends, only flimsy alliances. If the other villain so desired, they could easily crash the plane. It might not kill- or even scratch- BlackHat, but Flug probably couldn't survive a second plane crash. And, despite what Dementia might think, he doesn't want to die.

5.0.5 works fruitlessly at sweeping the lab floor. A neat pile of energy drink cans in one corner, the coffee cups on the unused table. Flug didn't stop working, instead of working around 5.0.5 as he cleans. He has nearly done with a device that would paralyze a specific person, and with only sixteen hours left to finish it up before they had to leave, he was definitely not leaving the lab anytime soon.

Besides, 5.0.5 could do whatever deep cleaning he so desired while they were away. Granted Dementia didn't follow behind him to break everything again.

Spinning around, he steps over 5.0.5’s broom and grabs a rusty toolbox from the far corner of the room. He sets it down on top of the blueprints and pops the lid. Digging inside for a moment he quickly locates a particularly small screwdriver. He picks a tiny screw from the pile on the metal table and lines up two pieces of metal and screws in the screw.

5.0.5 makes a curious noise behind him. The bear bends down and pulls out a wrench from under a thick stack of discarded blueprints. Flug turns to see what he had found.

"Great ! Put that over there, please." He says and motions to a larger toolbox. 5.0.5 looks the rusty thing in his paw over before going to put it away.

Now with elbow joint attached to the mechanism, he pulls off his lab coat and slips it on over his bare arm. With a flick of the switch on the wrist, lights on the ends of the clunky metal fingers light up. He tests the flexibility by clenching and unclenching his fist and bending his elbow. It moves smoothly.

He would have to test that the paralyzing agent before they left. Perhaps on the plane, though he didn't think BlackHat would be too pleased if he paralyzed business partners. It probably wouldn't look too good for the company either.

Looking around the lab, the only viable subject currently in the room is 5.0.5- which Flug refused to experiment on. He decided to go find Dementia, someone much more resilient and eager to join in on experiments. 

Also immediately as he entered the hall connected to the stairs leading down to the lab, Dementia was on him. Cling onto his back and wrapping her legs around his waist. He nearly falls forward with a yell and throws his arm back to grab at her, accidentally triggering the mechanism and effectively paralyzing the woman. She goes limp with a cat-like mewl and falls limp to the ground.

Flug turns around quickly and huffs in annoyance. He switches the mechanism off and kneels beside her. Dementia's eyes follow him. A slight grin curling on her lips, but with most of her muscles effectively frozen, she couldn't full out grin and cackle. 

"One of these days I'm going to end up accidentally killing you." Flug sighs and manages to get his arms under her and picks her up. Her head flops back and her hair hits the ground. Trying not to drop her, he carefully carries her to her room, arms shaking all the way.

Dropping her on her bed, he throws her hair over her face and huffs again. The tips of her fingers twitch. Was the paralyzing agent already wearing off? Perhaps he hadn't made it correctly, or her immunity built up at this point. He'd look more into it when they returned from the convention.

"Have fun, Dem." He says and exits her room, closing the door behind himself. Making his way back to the lab, he unclasps the mechanism on his arm and slides it off. His skin felt tingly and oddly warm. He rubs at it and tucks his invention under his arm. When he opens the heavy door to the lab, he notices 5.0.5's absence and figures he's taken the mugs to the kitchen for rigorous scrubbing. 

Thoroughly satisfied with his invention, he sets it on her worktable and grabs his lab coat. Deciding to begin packing now rather than at the last moment. BlackHat expected Flug to pack the inventions they intended to sell with his own personal items, which means he had to pack minimally and carefully.

After he's finished packing, he carries the suitcase up to the first level and sets it by the front door besides BlackHat's smaller suitcase. The demon soon descends down the grand staircase, his cane tapping on each step.

"I hope you don't plan on wearing that at the convention, Dr. Flug." BlackHat says, looking down at him disapprovingly. Flug subconsciously shrinks under his gaze, something BlackHat took great pride in. Shaking his head, he musters up a response.

"Of course not, Sir." He mutters, stepping back from the Eldritch demon slightly. "My suit is packed." He says and motions to his bag. BlackHat's scow lets up slightly and he nods approvingly.

"Very well, shall we be on our way?" He fixes the collar of his button-up. Flug nods and moves towards the door, opening it for his boss as he shrugs his overcoat on. BlackHat exits the manor silently, leaving Flug to grab both of their suitcases and hurry to join him.

A driver was waiting for them just outside the gate, sent by Golden Monarch, the villain who owned the plane and the one they would be flying with. BlackHat waited as Flug puts the bags into the velvet-lined trunk and climbed into the back seat beside him

The inside of the car was very nice but reeked of blood and chlorine.  Flug immediately wanted out as soon as he closed the door. The ride was silent, with BlackHat writing with a quill pen on a few sheets of paper, and Flug staring out the window, daydreaming about new inventions.

The plane was prepared to leave by the time the two arrived. The engine was deafening, reminding Flug of his teen years. Smiling under his bag, he climbs out to grab their bags. BlackHat heads towards the Golden Monarch, exchanging meaningless pleasantries.

"Ah, Dr. Flug you look, as young as ever." Golden Monarch greets as the scientist approaches the two villains. Flug glances to his boss, who already looked annoyed.

"Thank you, Golden Monarch. You are as menacing as ever. Thank you for letting us accompany you on your plane." He says, hoping to correct any crude remarks BlackHat might have made. Golden Monarch preens slightly and looks to BlackHat approvingly.

"You have such a polite servant, BlackHat. So smart and well mannered. How long did it take you to train him as so?" He asks. BlackHat scowls at the question and shakes his head. Flug wanted to say the sheer terror of being hired by BlackHat had put him in his place.

"He is not a servant. The bear is at home, Monarch." He says and fixes his tie. Golden Monarch chuckles and steps to the side, motioning to the stairs leading up into the aircraft.

"Just that way then, the servitors will take your bags." He says and turns and makes his way to the plane and disappearing inside.  Two faceless servitors approach to take their bags. BlackHat looks at them distrustfully, pulling his lips into a sneer before joining Golden Monarch in the plane. Flug reluctantly hands over the suitcases, perturbed by the servitor's smooth, empty faces.

For a moment, he wonders if they are capable of complex thought. If they have free will. Then, one of their freezing hands graze his and he jerks away and scurries on the plane. BlackHat looks up from the martini glass in his hand and gives Flug a curious look. Flug slips into the seat beside him, pressing against the side of the plane and gazing out the window

"Oh, Dr. Flug," Golden Monarch stands from his seat and makes his way over to the bar cart at the front. "Would you like a drink? I've recently gotten my hands on some Pasión Azteca. Romantic sounding, yes?" He asks with a small giggle and picks up a glass.

"No thank you, Sir." Flug replies hastily as he picks up the expensive looking bottle. "I don't drink." Golden Monarch’s smile fails to reach his eyes as he sets the bottle back down.

"Where did you get such a perfect employee, BlackHat?" He asks and sits down. BlackHat pulls another displeased face and takes a sip of his tequila. Flug shrinks under the praise, not used to being called 'the perfect employee' or the sweet tone he was using.

"Dr. Flug is far from the perfect employee. The only reason he will not drink is that damned paper bag." He says without looking up from his drink. He swirls it around before setting it down on his armrest.

"Say, why do you wear it, Doctor?" He asks. Flug tenses even more and looks to BlackHat, hoping he would change the subject. Maybe start talking about business and ignore him like they usually did. But his boss seemed to want the answer as well.

"Well, uh, personal reasons." He says, sounding unsure of himself. Seemingly intrigued, Golden Monarch leans forward.

"A tragic event, Doctor? Or perhaps you're hiding from the government- which explains turning to villainism. Perhaps a scorned lover? Are you not really human? ! " Flug shakes his head, desperately looking to BlackHat to change the subject.

"Monarch," BlackHat warns, swirling his drink again. Monarch blinks, smiling momentarily disappearing and all amusement leaving his eyes. He picks up his own glass of tequila.

"My apologies, Doctor. I just  _ do _ love a good, tragic backstory." He chuckles. Flug notices BlackHat sneer for a moment before covering it up by bringing his glass to his lips and finishing his drink. "What are your plans when we get to Germany, BlackHat? You never do much outside the auction."

"I solely go for the international business opportunities. I have no need to dawdle about a foreign country." He says and crosses his ankles. a servitor appears from the back of the plane and takes his glass to refill it.

"You don't even know the language, yes?" Golden Monarch asks, leaning back in his chair. BlackHat stares straight ahead at him and nodded.

"The majority at the conventions speak English or Spanish. If I need a translator, I have Flug." He motions to said scientist with a slight nudge of the head. Golden Monarch’s eyes light up and he directs his attention back to Flug, much to his discomfort.

"You speak German?" He asks. If Flug could, he would have fully curled up in the seat and blinked from existence. He nods, stuffing his hands in his lap and fidgeting with them nervously.

"I was born in Germany, Sir." He responds quietly.

"How fascinating." Golden Monarch says as the servitors begin to prepare for take off. Flug watches a few move about outside the plane before they make their way in and disappear into the back of the plane. A servitor appears a few minutes later and hands Golden Monarch a slip of green paper. He smiles and gently pushes the humanoid away. It makes a movement like it's surprised before wandering away.

"Gentlemen, prepare yourselves to take off." Golden Monarch says excitedly and lets the green paper flutter to the ground. Flug adjusts his goggles nervously before leaning back against the window and watches as the plane begins to move.

BlackHat and Golden Monarch talk mostly about business. Golden Monarch would find ways to pry about Flug, annoying BlackHat and making Flug increasingly more uncomfortable. Once the plane landed and the two were leaving to collect their luggage, BlackHat pulls Flug to the side.

"Stay close to me, Doctor. I have a feeling his curiosity isn't innocent." He mumbles close to the side of Flug’s head. The human nods meekly and pulls away as quickly as he could. He takes the bags from the servitor's eager to get away from them. "Hurry up, Doctor. I'll figure out a way to die before you get back over here with the bags."

"Yes, Sir." Flug says as he makes his way back towards his boss, suitcases in each of his hands. BlackHat glances towards the plane before grabbing him by the elbow. He jumps in surprise and goes to pull away when the world suddenly flashes white. Everything around him grows extremely intense like he was running and drowning at the same time.

The world instantaneously returns to normal. Flug drops the suitcases and kneels on the ground, hands pushing under his bag to cover his mouth to keep himself from vomiting. They were now in a luxurious room. With two beds draped in velvet blankets. The walls a dark purple with paintings of classical German scenery hanging from them. 

"Get up, Doctor. Human vomit is unsightly." BlackHat scolds and grabs his suitcase. Flug blinks and slowly rises to his feet and waits until the world's stable again. 

Sighing, he grabs his own suitcase and moves it to the table that he supposed was a dining table. He sets the inventions he had brought along onto the table, making sure they were in pristine shape and able to be sold.

"Sir, are we participating in the first or second auction this year, Sir?" Flug asks as picks up a small dagger from the line up on the table to inspect it.

"Both, Doctor. Divide the items evenly." He says and makes his way over to the table to investigate. Slipping the dagger from the scientist's hand and twirls it around his fingers before his thumb presses the small switch on the blade and the dagger morphs into a large sword. 

"I have a feeling this year will be one we will not forget." BlackHat admires the blade a moment before he presses his finger back into the dip on the blade and the weapon shrinks back into a small dagger.

The next morning, Flug wakes up as early as he usually does. The convention starts in the early morning and ends in the late night. Slipping out from under the covers, he is disappointed to have to leave the comfortability and warmth of the bed. He changes from yesterday's clothes and into the suit he had brought along. Careful to use the wardrobe door to block himself from the view of BlackHat's bed as he changes.

A few minutes later BlackHat rises from his bed, more like a vampire than an eldritch horror. His teeth shine in the early morning light as he growls out a loud yawn. Flug was pretty sure BlackHat didn't need more than an hour of sleep, he still made a show of it. Perhaps it was a dig at Flug's atrocious sleep cycle, which he took a great part in causing.

"Good morning, Sir." Flug greets as he sets to work on tying his bowtie. BlackHat glances over at him before throwing his covers off and stands.

"I see you're prepared for once." He says and snaps his fingers. Changing instantly from comfier night clothes to a suit. Silently, he makes his way over to the dining table as he fixes his tie and looks over the laid out weapon once more.

"Which ones are we taking today?" Flug asks and turns towards his boss. BlackHat looks at him a moment before blinking and returning his gaze to the table.

"Some of the smaller ones." He says and motions to the dagger, along with a few other hand held items. "It'll be easier for you to carry." He says and moves away from the table to look at himself in the mirror.

Flug pulls a face under his bag and grabs his emptied suitcase and puts five inventions in, leaving six at least arm’s length ones on the table. Abruptly BlackHat is behind Flug, pulling at his shoulder to turn him around. He grabs at his bowtie and unties it before he can pull away.

"You've done it wrong." He says. "One side was bigger than the other." Flug's face heats up at the proximity. He hopes he won’t notice as he stares down at his gloves hands retying the bow.

"Thank you, Sir." He says quietly, clutching the suitcase handle tightly. BlackHat glances up at him.

"Why  _ do _ you wear the bag, Flug?" He asks calmly like they had had this conversation a thousand times by now. In reality, Flug had managed damn well to never have to speak of it.

"P-Personal reasons, S-Sir." He mutters. BlackHat's face pulls into a slight look of disappointment. When Flug started stuttering, it was a sure sign he either fucked up or was extremely nervous; and the last thing he needed was his scientist to embarrass himself because he asked about his stupid lunch bag for a head.

Stepping back when done correcting his bowtie. Flug brushes down his overcoat and fidgets nervously. "Let us get going then, Doctor," BlackHat says and begins to move towards the door. Flug closes his suitcase and follows after him.

The convention was held a few hundred feet under the Messe Berlin. And was just as big as the building above it, and structured similarly. The two-step off the elevator and into the front area, where a particularly mauled looking woman motions to the doors leading to the main convention area, snapping loudly on her gum.

BlackHat leads the way into the main area, commenting on how they split it up into four sections this year. Flug follows him to their presentation table, covered by a thick black table cloth and with their logo proudly behind it. He immediately sets to work, placing the items they intended to sell carefully out on the table.

A few villains wander over, browsing the items and exchanging pleasantries with BlackHat. Flug manages to stay out of their attention by staying silent and keeping his head down. That is until Golden Monarch makes his way over. The facinorous man dressed in fine red and gold clothes, even sporting a cape that dragged across the ground.

"If it isn't my favorite competition." He coos and places a hand on the table. BlackHat looks away from the conversation he was having about demonic séances and rituals to watch Golden Monarch.

"G-Good to see you again, Sir." Flug greets nervously. Golden Monarch cracks a large grin and leans closer to Flug. An action that seems to put BlackHat on edge, who steps closer to the table.

"Dr. Flug, I simply  _ must _ know what these majestic inventions of yours do." He says, almost too sweetly. Flug had never met a person in this business that sweet talked him so much, especially for him being an employee of a demon like BlackHat who kept a tight hold on his employees.

"Thank you, Sir." He says and points a finger to the dagger from before. "This weapon here had the appearance of a typical dagger." He picks it up, watching Golden Monarch’s expression carefully, he looked totally enthralled by such a simple thing. "But when the small button, here, is pressed," Flug grunts slightly at the sudden weight of the blade forming in his hands. "It turns into a sword."

Golden Monarch gasps like he's never heard of something like this before. Flug quickly presses the button back and exhales in relief when it's a simple dagger back in his hand. The villain puts a second hand on the table and leans forward just a bit more.

"Again, Doctor, I simply must compliment your utter brilliance. How do you come up with something like that?" He asks. Flug shrinks away from the compliment and chuckles nervously.

"Thank you, Sir. " He mumbles, moving slowly towards the side of the table his boss was stood by. Golden Monarch seems to decide he was done there and stands up from the table.

"I hope to see you at the auction, Doctor. Hopefully, you'll show me more of your inventions." He says before turning around on his heel and heading back towards his own table. Flug relaxes as he watches him leave. BlackHat's shoulders slacken and he returns to the conversation eagerly.

A few minutes later a man and woman- identical twins- approached the table. They didn't say anything and didn't seem interested in anything  _ on _ the table. Rather, they would sneakily find ways to stare at Flug and BlackHat while lingering around the table. He figures they’re new to the business, and is scoping out their competition. 

Not seeing them after they've moved away a bit more, Flug thinks it's safe enough to quickly grab a bite. He gently nudges BlackHat's arm while he had no one talking to him.

"Sir, I'm getting hungry. I think there's a food stand nearby." He says. He could smell pretzels and absolutely craved one. It'd been too long since he's had a good German pretzel. BlackHat frowns and looks like he might say no for a moment.

"Be quick, Doctor. You have two minutes." He says and positions himself behind the table. Flug smiles and quickly makes his way to wherever the smell was strongest. As he's approaching the Laugenbrezeln stand, two pairs of hands are suddenly on him. One over his mouth and the other around his waist, tugging him back.

He tries to break free from their grip, but he's held still and quickly guided back out to the front area. When he's let go, he creates as much distance from whoever had grabbed him as he could. It was the identical twins from before, stood beside each other and looking too Herculean for him to take on his own.

"Oh, Nemesis." A woman lightly scolds as she descends the staircase to the left. Flug looks at her suspiciously. The twins move exactly the same as each other, both turning halfway to face her.

"I see you brought our guest of honor." She says and smiles. Flug looks around nervously, hoping someone would step out of the elevator soon enough to see what was happening. "So nice to finally meet you, Doctor. I'm Naxxremis, and an associate and I have valuable plans for you." She says.

"What?" He asks pathetically. Nemesis both begin to move toward Flug, both still perfectly in sync. Flug attempts to back away, his back hitting the closed elevator doors. They grab his arms, pinning his arms to the wall. "You're going to regret this ! " Flug says as he fights against the two hominids keep him effectively trapped.

"Why, Dr. Flug? Your boss?" She asks tauntingly as she makes her way over to him. Twirling a pen around in her fingers as she stops just arm’s length from Flug. The scientist attempts to try and kick out one of the twins' legs to destabilize them, but they stood firm. "I assure you, BlackHat will be of no issue for us." She says mellifluously, but with an evil look in her eyes.

Clicking the pen in her hand, she gives it a final twirl before tilting Flug's head back with her knuckles and stabbing the tip into his neck. He falls limp moments after the needle slides out of his neck. Glancing back to the glass doors leading to the main room. Golden Monarch looks her straight in the eye, expression unreadable, before turning away and disappearing into the crowd.

"Take the Doctor to his room, Nemesis. Leave his clothes." Naxxremis says and brushes long strands of black hair behind her ear. Nemesis picks up Flug, facial expression indifferent as they carry him into the elevator.


	2. Einsperren

When Flug comes to, it feels like every bone in his body has been replaced with stones. The world is fuzzy and pulsating; he can feel his heartbeat in the tips of his fingers and his temples, his right ankle feels as though it's been chopped off. He groans quietly and slowly raises a hand to rub at his eyes and is surprised to find his bag and goggles on.

Opening his eyes, he finds an unfamiliar ceiling above him and jolts upright. Looking around, his fear builds into a bundle in his throat as he realizes this is in no way his lab or the hotel room. 

There was a small desk in the corner and a thin wardrobe on the other wall. The doors were aligned with the bed, dark wood with little flowers carved into it. The bed itself was extremely soft. The blanket was thick and had fur around the edges. Flug felt like he had somehow found his way into another dimension. 

He reminds himself that he most certainly does not belong here and throws the blanket off himself. As he goes to stand he flinches at something metal digging into his ankle.

Looking down at his now exposed leg, he makes a quiet and distressed noise at the sight of a shackle on his ankle. He twists his leg to the side to look at the metal clasp on the shackle, a simple ring of metal with a small lock on the side. It looked like they had handcuffed his ankle to the bed. 

There’s a soft rapping on the door and Flug quickly yanks the cover back over himself. He fixes his bag as the door opens, and a rather small boy steps in. He couldn’t be any taller than up to Flug’s stomach. With a clipboard in hand, he pushes golden curls from his face before looking up to Flug with an excited grin.

“May I say, Doctor. I’ve always wanted to ask you what was under the bag.” He says, nudging the door closed with his foot. Flug shimmies back on the bed, pressing his back to the headrest. “I’m not as infatuated as my Master is with you- and I think that’s a good thing for you- but I do find the mysticism of it is alluring. Is that why you wear it?” 

He approaches the bed and sets the clipboard on the nightstand. Flug quickly jerks away from him as he reaches into his pockets. The boy gives him an interested look as he takes out a pair of latex gloves and pulls them on. 

“It certainly boosted BlackHat’s business after you came under his employment.” He continues. “But my Master says you have personal reasons?” He gauges Flug’s reaction, seemingly dissatisfied by his silence. 

“Let’s get on with this then.” He says. “Please come closer.” When Flug doesn’t move his pleasant smile disappears into a disgruntled frown. 

“I was told not to put any marks on you that wouldn’t disappear in a few days time, so if you would please cooperate.” He says, beckoning him over with one hand.

“What do you people want from me?” Flug demands, his voice somehow managing to not waver. The boy rolls his eyes for a moment with a quiet sigh. 

“I’m sure you’re aware of a demand for certain villains lovers and second in commands. Luckily- well maybe only for us- BlackHat doesn’t seem to realize he’s one of those villains. It was only a matter of time before someone got to you.” He says. 

Taking advantage of Flug’s stillness, he quickly reaches over and grabs him by the shoulder. The scientist pulls away quickly and attempts to back away further, however, the chain of his shackle can’t go anymore. 

The boy climbs up onto the bed and grabs the top of Flug’s bag, and yanks up. Only the top portion of the bag rips away his goggles holding the rest in place. Flug makes a sound not unlike a kicked dog and brings his hands up to cover and hide his head. 

The boy pulls his arms away from his face and down against his stomach. Flug is surprised by his strength, despite his small stature. With Flug’s arms pinned to his lap, the boy rips off the rest of his bag and pushes his goggles up and off his head. 

“Oh dear. That’ll dampen your pricing, but perhaps Master has planned for this.” He mutters and steps back from the bed and picks up the clipboard. Without another word he turns around and walks out of the room with the clipboard, door slamming behind him. 

Flug makes a quick dive for his goggles, desperately tugging them back onto his face and over his eyes. There’s something mildly comforting about the slight grey tint of the glass. 

As the door creaks open, Flug shoves wild orange curls in front of his face and turns his good side towards the door, straining his eyes to watch the door from the corner of his vision. Golden Monarch walks in as if nothing was amiss. Grinning as he did on the plane. 

“Dr. Flug !  How pleasurable to see you once again, though I am harrowed by the disagreeable nature of this second meeting.” He says pleasantly. He frowns, however, when Flug refuses to look at him. Stepping forwards, he hopes to coax at least a head twitch from the human. He didn’t want to have to harm him, but it seems BlackHat’s stubbornness has rubbed off on him. He needed to see what’d he’s been scheming to steal for a year now.

He approaches the bed carefully, placing a knee on the side he reaches over and gently grabs Flug’s wrist that was over the lower half of his face and attempts to guide it to his lap. When Flug resists, he pulls a little harder, getting a whimper from the scientist that has the villain preening slightly. 

With the human’s wrists pinned to his lap with one hand, the villain pushes his wild hair up and out of the way. A port wine stain covered most of the left of Flug’s face, that wasn’t scars. A bit of his top lip on the left side was missing, revealing his canine.

“Oh dear, that’s at least one thousand off. Let us see those eyes, yeah?” He says, running his fingers through Flug’s hair a moment before working a digit under the band of his goggles and tugging up on it. Flug’s face scrunches up as the goggles slide up and off his head. 

Childishly, he keeps his eyes squeezed firmly closed. Refusing Golden Monarch a look. However, with the bulky goggles gone, he can now see that the burn scars reached all the way up to Flug’s hairline and destroyed most of his left eyebrow. 

“Oh, please do let me have a keek.” He coos, tapping one of his eyelids. Flinching away, the human presses his chin to his chest and writhes in his spot miserably. “Fine,” He huffs and lets up on his hold on his wrists and moves as if he’s standing from the bed. “Fine then, I’ll inform Nemesis to bring you to the auction early.” He says, disappointed he had to use deception.

Satisfaction floods the villain as Flug’s eyes pop open in surprise and fear. They’re muddy green, a color that has Golden Monarch wanting to scoop them out and keep them on his work desk to gaze at until the embalming fluid yellows and he can’t make them out anymore.

“Much better.” He chirps and steps back from the bed. Flug momentarily squeezes his eyes closed again as if it would reverse him opening them a moment earlier. After realizing that acting like a child wouldn’t help him in this situation, he peeks them open and grabs his goggles. 

“Why am I here? What do you want?” Flug demands, hanging onto a shred of hope that the blonde boy was lying. Golden Monarch smiles again, clasping his hands under his chin.

“Dear Naxxremis and I have taken a look at the prices a few apprentices and employees go for in the Prolétaire Auctions.” He says, walking with a bounce in his step to the foot of the bed and grabs the short chain. Reflexively, Flug attempts to pull his foot away. “However, I never quite realized how absolutely alluring human innocence and trauma is. You simply radiate of both a pure and damaged psyche. Your tiny build is simply a cherry on the proverbial cake.” 

He checks that there’s minimal bruising on Flug’s ankle before pulling his hand back. Setting his hands onto the footboard he stares at Flug a long moment before drawing in a breath and backing up.

“Do call if you require anything, Doctor. Matthew is to listen to your every beck and whim before we head off for France.” He says as if discussing his ride to work, not catering to a kidnap victim and selling him off soon. 

“Wait ! -” Flug blurts as Golden Monarch turns away and approaches the door. “What will happen to me after the auction?” He asks meekly.

“Truly, it depends on who bids the highest. You could continue doing the same thing, just a different villain. You could be sold off again. You could be put into the sex business. Or have your organs harvested- oh, but that would be a waste of your pretty face.” He mutters the last part, eyebrows scrunching up in distaste at the thought.

None of what he had said was comforting. Surly, BlackHat had to have taken notice of his absence. It was most certainly over his two-minute time limit to grab a Laugenbrezeln. It was times like this Flug wished he had gone through with his tracking chip idea. 

When Flug doesn’t respond, Golden Monarch turns back around and makes his way to the door. He pulls it open and twists his head to look over his padded shoulder. With a quickly and uncomfortably cheery farewell he slips out. It clicks as it locks. 

After a moment, Flug rips the blanket back off and scoot down on the bed. He needed this fucking shackle off. Now. He starts by tugging on the chain, both with his hands or jerking his foot away from the footboard. The chain wrapped around one of the bedposts jerks slightly, but he can’t see any weak links to focus on.

Giving up on that he scoots back up as far as he can and reaches for the bedside table. He just manages to reach the handle with the tips of his fingers and managed to wiggle it open. The drawer is empty except a letter opener with an eagle head at the end of the handle and a roll of tape.

Going for the letter opener, he looks the blade over. Instantly, he is disappointed by the dull blade. Still, if he swung fast or hard enough he could probably get it into a stomach, or eye. Maybe he could break the shackle somehow?

The tip is too large to unscrew the tiny screws holding it together. Nothing comes of trying to pry the piece that holds his ankle in place away from his skin. As he sits back he nearly bursts into tears. All at once he was overwhelmingly stressed, scared, and angry. 

He wasn’t even sure who he was angry at more, these villains, BlackHat, or himself. BlackHat should have realized-  _ He _ should have realized he would have been targeted. Working for these assholes doesn’t make him immune to their wickedness. He got too comfortable around the type of people that would sell him to potentially become a slave. 

With a new sense of determination and autonomy, he sits up straighter and tries to think of one of the many ways Dementia had broken from handcuffs before. His dirty and scuffed sneakers catch his eyes and he dives for his shoelaces. As he unthreads his shoelace from the sneaker he sends a silent thanks to Dementia. 

Carefully, he pushes his shoelace through the space in-between the lock and the clamp. He pulls it tight away from his ankle and works his finger in-between the metal and his ankle and pulls on it as hard as he can. It loosens slightly, which makes his heart soar with excitement. He fixes the shoelaces and tugs again, arm shaking slightly until there a soft click as the shackle opens and slides down his ankle onto the bed.

He wants to yell in triumph but keeps his victory celebration to a jerky fistbump into the air. Now free, he climbs off the bed and begins to explore the room, taking the letter opener with him. 

The wardrobe is completely empty, covered in a thin layer of dust. He moves to the desk, to find it also completely empty. Frustrated by the absolute lack of  _ anything _ in this room. All he had was a blunt letter opener, a roll of tape, blankets, and the clothes on his back. Surely, there was no escape attempt more pitiful than this.

_ No _ , he tells himself, he got out of the leg shackle,  _ he can get out of this damn room. _

Looking around the room again for any other escape route other than the door. He notices the large curtains hanging from the wall behind the headrest of the bed and quickly makes his way over. Climbing up onto the mattress, he pulls the curtains out of the way. The glass was too dirty to see through properly. 

He reaches down behind the headrest and attempts to feel for the lift and pull it open. Pulling his arm out, he rubs at his shoulder and glares at the shadow, trying to make out any shapes in the dark. 

With a ‘hrumpf’ he drops himself back down onto the mattress. It would be too dangerous to test the door now. It would be better to wait to late at night. There was no way for him to know is Matthew or Nemesis would be staked out in front of the door, but he would take his chances. 

Shimming back under the covers, he hides the open shackle and letter opener under the blanket. As he settles in place, ready to wait out until nightfall, he realizes there is nothing for him to occupy himself with during the wait. He didn’t want to wander around the room and possibly get caught out of his restraint if someone were to come in and check on him. Perhaps he could try and figure out how to twirl the letter opener around in his fingers.

A creek in the floorboards has Flug jolting awake. He uncurls himself around the pillow and shoves his hair out of his face. Golden Monarch looks surprised for a moment, no doubtitly not suspecting him to practically jump up to the ceiling at the slightest sound. 

“My apologies, Doctor.  You can go back to sleep, you looked very bewitching curled up like that.” He says quietly, the darkness making his face indistinguishable from the rest of him, leaving only his silhouette visible. 

Flug sits up straighter, trying to figure out what the demon was doing, stood over an empty desk. For a moment he’s scared he realizes he’d managed to get out from his shackle. He tries to reason with himself that if that was the purpose of his late-night visit, he would have said something, or at least clamped it back on. 

“What’re you doing?” He asks head muzzy from the unexpected nap. Golden Monarch makes a small noise and the bed dips. Flug jumps at the shift and looks over at him. A warm hand is placed carefully on his knee. He wants to pull away, his mind demanding he not let him touch him, but no matter how loud that voice in his head was, he found he couldn’t move.

“You’re covered in BlackHat’s scent.” He says lowly, voice not at all like his usual peppy one; he sounded like a demon. BlackHat had vaguely explained that demons could lay claim to other beings and that their presence could rub off and leave a ‘scent’  behind. “I’m not sure if we should bathe you before we leave to remove the mark or keep it as a sign of authenticity.” 

 It is then, as Golden Monarch turns his head to the side, the horns protruding from his temples are illuminated enough for Flug to see them. He shifts on the bed, pulling his hand off Flug’s knee and onto his lap. 

“Mark?” Flug asks, forcing his drowsiness away enough for him to watch Golden Monarch. He nods subtly, turning his head to watch shadows pass by in the light coming from under the door.

“A sign to not come near. A claim to a thing or person.” He says and turns back to Flug, leaning forwards and tapping on his wrist. “Here is one.” He moves to tap on his other wrist. “Here,” He taps on his elbow, shoulder, and collar bone before pulling back. “They’re all over you.”

“What does that mean?” He asks. His wrists, elbows, and shoulders were the usual places BlackHat touched or grabbed him. Were marks created by physical contact? That wouldn’t explain his collar bone though.

“Normally it’s only one or two between a demon and employee like yourselves.” Golden Monarch mutters, tone solemn. Normally not as many? What was he suggesting? “Something like that could definitely up you a pretty penny or two.”

Flug furrows his brows, he didn’t care about how much he cost. He wanted to keep on the subject of marks. Now probably wasn’t a good time for his scientific brain to set ablaze with interest, but he wanted answers for questions he was previously ignored for asking.

“How does it work?” He asks cautiously. Golden Monarch chuckles, shoulders bouncing twice as his head tips backwards. 

“Curious, Doctor? BlackHat put scent marks all over you and never even told you what they were?” He chuckles. “I would mark you to show you, but Naxxremis has expressly told me not to lay a finger on you.” He says, voice growling slightly.

“Well, a simpler mark, like the ones you’re covered in, are done by simple gestures. Handshake, fixing a sleeve. Something that isn’t necessarily intimate, but could be taken in such a way. Some marks are painful. Often biting or nails.” He says, running a pointed nail down Flug’s leg, sending chills up and down his skin. 

“Well, get to sleep, Doctor. Tomorrow will be a  lot of traveling.” He says and pats Flug’s ankle before he rises from the bed. 

“Where am I going?” Flug asks quickly. Golden Monarch pauses and his head tilts to the side.

“France. Grand-Hôtel du Cap-Ferrat.” He says before slipping out of the room. Leaving Flug alone in the dark. 

* * *

* * *

After the two minutes had gone and past, BlackHat gave his scientist one more minute before he abandoned the presentation table. He followed in the direction he had disappeared off to. 

Villains stopped him along the way, trying to start a conversation and ask about business recently. He brushed them off, sometimes sparing a sharp ‘I'm busy’ as to not completely offend. Why were there so many damned people here? !

All he finds is a dorky looking pretzel stand in the far corner. The tiny man behind the counter obviously having no idea what he had set up shop in before the hundreds of demons walked in. He began asking around.

“Oh, yeah.” A particularly Scottish sounding ghoul says as he stops them. “I thought you'd let him off until the bidding began. Naxxremis and her pets were all over him, bringing him towards the front.”

“Yes, of course.” He mutters. Who knows how far gone Flug is now. He turns from the ghoul and starts towards the entrance of the convention center. Was this the day Flug finally decided to leave? With a vampire no less. At least he could be in the sun without blistering and dying.

Naxxremis was infamous with that trafficking ring. Hopefully, it wasn’t a modern day twist of Romeo and Juliet situation. Not that his scientist being kidnapped was any better- worse even- but he at least knew who had connections in the main trafficking rings. 

Returning to his presentation table, he picks Flug’s suitcase from under the table and places the inventions inside. Once he’s finished packing his table back up, he doesn’t bother to make his way out to the front to teleport. He lets his form melt into a grotesque lump of misplaced organs and gore that disappears into the tile floor. 

The monstrosity emerges from his hotel room carpet before twisting and molding back into the shape of BlackHat. He blinks and straightens out his tie before setting the suitcase down on the scientist's bed. There was no solid plan for what to do now. All he had was, confront Naxxramas, get Flug back. But that didn’t take into account if Flug had run away, or was sold off in the time he was confronting Naxxremis. He doesn’t think about that, instead opting his usual overweening attitude. 

Picking up the handset of the rotary phone, he manifests his phone book in his free hand. It flips open to the ‘N’ page and scans his eyes down until he locates a certain vampiress. Dialing in the number, it rings twice before there’s a quiet click on the other line.

“Naxxremis, vampiress of Corps of Anarchy. State your name and business.” She says, sounding quite bored. BlackHat takes a moment to collect the sudden unbridled rage collecting in him. 

“Naxxremis, I missed you at the convention.” He says pleasantly. There’s a long stretch of silence from the other end before he decides to continue. “I wanted to propose another partnership with you.” He says.

“Ah, yes, of course.” She says with a chuckle. A noise that made him want to reach in the phone and demand for his scientist then and there. “I would be delighted to work with BlackHat Co. once again.” She says.

“Wonderful. I’ll find your section in the auction tomorrow.” He says before dropping the phone back into its place and hanging up. 

He manages to drop himself into one of the dining chairs before he growls out in anger. Tendrils lash out from his skin, breaking the back of the chair. Teeth, eyes, and spikes protrude from his skin and move at random. The use of his ability like this felt great. It let off steam and burned up energy. Of course, this meant he might have to rest for an hour or two tonight, but that beat being up the entire twelve hours. 

As the horrors melt back into his skin once again he slumps back into the flimsy remains of the back of the chair. It gives slightly at the added weight and allows him to slouch just a bit further into the chair. 

If anyone thought they would be able to take his scientist and get away with it, they were severely mistaken.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and Kudos are greatly appreciated!


	3. Auktionieren

The next time Flug woke up, he was bound and gagged, in what felt like a plastic box. He struggles and called for help until it was hard to breathe and the walls felt like they were compressing against him. When he came to next, he was being hoisted from a suitcase. Golden Monarch smiles at him as if nothing is wrong as he hands him over to another man.

The man speaks in French. Flug had learned the very basics a long time ago, when he was still a teenager. The language was lost to him these days, he could only catch hints of words. He pretends to still be asleep, even as he's uncomfortably shifted in the man's arms. He speaks against and works a finger underneath one goggle and slips it up. It takes all the strength in the scientist to hold back the urge to writhe away from his touch.

“BlackHat.” Golden Monarch answers to something the man had asked. The answer receives a noise of interest from the man holding him. A moment later the man pushes up the other goggle and responds through wicked laughter. He turns and begins to walk away from Golden Monarch, who responds equally as amused sounding.

Flug chances a look at the man holding him, he had a weaselly appearance. His face was oddly perfectly symmetrical except for his long, slightly bent nose. His hair was slicked back with copious amounts of gel that despite itself couldn't hold a majority of the blonde hair in place. He panted slightly as he walked, as if the slow pace he had set was leaving him out of breath.

He carries Flug down a flight of stairs, then a pair of large, metal doors that opened with a loud creak. A suffocating silence follows as he's carried into the rather cold room. He's placed on a hard surface that feels like stone and digs into the skin of his arms. After a few long moments, the doors give a plangent groan as they shut. The scientist jolts up as the locks click in place. 

The room is dark and parky. The walls and floor are made of stone, it's cracked and the ceiling is leaking in a few places. There are others as well, a great majority of which, were women and grossly young children. They huddle in clumps around the room, hugging one another tightly and crying faintly. Most of the women were in revealing or ratty clothes, their hair either unkempt or in some form of malformed bun or braid. The children were worryingly cadaverous.

A slight woman asks Flug something in French when they make eye contact. He recognizes her from last year's European convention. She was the apprentice of L'épouvantable Crook, an up incoming French villain notorious for selling illegal and exotic animals on the black-market along side of larceny of French government officials. Flug replies rather meekly in German, stating that he could speak German or English.

Her eyes held a faint glow of green, despite the striking blue of her iris. She was a pale woman, who nearly appeared to be made of porcelain. Silky blonde hair had been pulled into a bun that now appeared to be melting off her hair. Her once elegant ivory dress was tattered and stained.

A man sprawled in the corner stirs from all the noise. He had gnarly bruises across one check and one eye, his lip was busted and fresh blood gave an unnerving shine to his beard even in such poor lighting. His hands were suspended above him, attached to the wall with thick shackles and heavy chains. He spits out a mixture of saliva and blood before speaking; it was obvious he was not brought here without a good fight.

"Who's are you?" He had a guttural way of speak, made even rougher sounding through a heavy Russian accent. He looked human enough to Flug, no identify markings on the skin, or other oddities that would give away any form of mythological origins.

"BlackHat." He responds, surprised by the growl from the back of his throat. The man snorts in mock amusement and shakes his head.

“Мастер меча." He says, pausing to clear his throat and glance towards a group of women who's been crying together as Flug was brought in but had quiet down now. "I was traveling alone when гремучая змея's gang ambushed me."

There's a long silence in which Flug begins to struggle in the rather flimsy duct tape bindings. There's a muffled peel of laughter from the other side of the door which sends a small boy scramble to the back of the room.

 Before he could manage to slip himself from the tape the two metal doors open and two burly men walk in. One had a scar that curled from his forehead to his lip, deforming it. Both had immaculate suits on, a gold watch glitters in the harsh lighting on one of their wrists.

The left one orders something in French, motioning loosely around the room with an open hand. Those that understood French rose to their feet rather hesitantly. A murmured confusion spreads through the room from those who couldn't understand. The two men begin around the room, pulling crying and yelling women, children, and frail young men to their feet and haul them off one by one.

When the two men exit again only six remain in the cellar. Flug, the Russian man, twin boys, a woman covered in fiery red scales, and L'épouvantable Crook’s apprentice. The twin boys both had caramel skin that was littered with light freckles. Each head of hair was the opposite, one had icy white curls, and the other raven black strands that laid flat on his head. 

It as if the cellar itself holds its breath in anticipation as they wait for them to return. Flug can hear yelling, begging, laughter. None of which he's certain of who or where it's coming from. Shadows that move across the bottom of the door have Flug tensing every time. Voice grow close and far again. Once, Flug even he can hear Golden Monarch laugh in his unusual way before saying something as he walks. His presence should not have been that much of a shock, he'd brought him here. Why would it matter if he stuck around to see what happened?

It takes an hour for the two men to return, each one with three handcuffs on them. The one with the facial scar heads towards the reptilian woman, who hisses and swipes at him. He moves out of the way quickly and grabs her by the thick braids and smashes it back against the stone floor. She snarls and struggles as she's flipped onto her stomach and handcuffed.

Meanwhile the twins are detained easily enough. They try to remain holding each other but put up not much of a fight when ripped apart. The twins and woman are pulled out, door slamming behind the two men. The wait isn't as long for the men to return. This time, they both approach the Russian man. Who, as the men approach, appears like a cornered animal.

He bared his blood stained teeth and snarled something out in Russian. When one grows too close he sends a vicious kick to his knee that sends the man to the ground. The other grumbles something and hits the scarred man's shoulder. The scarred man hisses something back and manages to grab the Russian's man still kicking foot. The other foot is quickly grabbed and held down beneath the man's weight.

The Russian man thrashes against his restraints in a painful manner. His arms were suspended up and slightly behind him, but that doesn't deter him from contorting his body to try and strike. He even snaps at the man's hand as he reaches for his hand.

Taking the distraction as his chance, Flug quickly sets to work pulling off the already loose duct tape bindings off. The long strip around his wrists lip off easily and he tears the one around his ankles rather nosily. The scarred man look up to see what the noise was as the scientist scrambles to his feet.

With less pressure on his legs he sends a quick kick up that connects with the scarred man's chin and sends him backwards onto the floor. Flug watches in stunned amazement before he realizes the other man is turning towards him. And as fast as his legs will carry him, Flug runs.

Wherever he is, it feels like a maze. The walls are all an immaculate white with golden accents, similar paintings and marble decorations every few feet. The wooden floor is covered by a thin velvet carpet that Flug nearly slips on every time he takes a sharp turn. He doesn't know if he's being chased but his heart pounds in his name and there's tears in his eyes already.

Voices suddenly sound up ahead. A peal of woman's laughter. Flug nearly collapses. He's so close now. Normal civilians would see him and call the cops and he could get away and find his own way back to BlackHat, and 5.0.5 and Dementia. As he nears the double doors at the end of the hallway, he can hear other voice's, men and women's. It's nearly a heavenly sound.

He throws himself against the doors and falls against the marble floor. There's a stunned silence as the scientist gasps desperately for air. He looks up to the people, hesitant to show his face without a bag. Nevertheless, he puts on his best façade.

"Please!" He begs desperately, letting the tears fall from his eyes. He doesn't pause to think if they'll understand him. "You've got to help me! I've been kidnapped!" He wails and makes himself look as small as possible.

Softer whispering ripples through the room. He continues to force tears and sobs until he can feel a hand on his shoulder. He flinches away and looks up quickly to ensure it wasn't one of the men from the basement. It was a nicely dressed man. He had perfectly combed strawberry blonde hair, enticing blue eyes, and pale skin.

"Who kidnapped you?" He asks gently. Flug manages a few more fat tears from his eyes as relief floods over him. He forces a tremor in his voice as he responds.

"I don't know, I-I didn't get a good look at them!" He rubs at his face, smearing tears. It's all be over soon, he reminds himself. Keep up this terrified façade and he'll be home. "Please, you've gotta get me out of here!"

"Who's gotten out of the basement now?" Golden Monarch's voice rang out from the back of the room. Icy cold anger flashed through Flug. He rubs his face dry quickly and squashes any trace of emotion, despite his wildly pounding heart. The demon appears from the crowd, he's dressed in a bright white suit with a black button up underneath. A mouse skull hung from a thin wire around his neck.

His eyes light up in interest as he spots Flug. He makes his way over and kneels down in front of him. He looks over Flug curiously and says, "How am I not surprised, Doctor?" He chuckles. Flug musters his best glare, thinking back to all the anger he's every swallowed down in his life, and spits in Golden Monarch's face. A surprised gasp ripples through the room.

"Oh dear." He chuckles and wipes his face with a gloved hand. "Very rude, I ought to sell you for free now." He laughs and peels off a glove, tossing it to the ground.

"Shall I take him back to the room with the others?" The strawberry blonde man asks. Golden Monarch shakes his head, pulling Flug up to his feet by his elbows.

"Oh, no. He's much more important than the civilians. You'll be pleasantly surprised. Do enjoy the pastries." he says and leads Flug from the room. Once the doors were closed Golden Monarch slows his pace and tightens his hold on Flug's elbow. "I must say," He begins, "I was rather impressed by your performance. I nearly thought you were one of those boys that are going to those Russian mines." He says.

"How did you slip past Guillemin and Lotte?" He asks and leads Flug into a small room that resembled a hotel room. A lush bed, small wooden dresser, large window, and fancy paintings on the wall. Golden Monarch forms a pair of handcuffs and swiftly pulls Flug's arms behind his back and cuffed him.

 Flug doesn't reply and takes a seat at the foot of the bed. Golden Monarch waits a moment before sighing out a disappointed laugh as he moves towards the door. His hand hovers over the handle before he leans against it and crosses his arms.

"I'm nearly disappointed to let you go, Doctor." He says. "Of course, we have paying customers that'd love a chance to take a bite of you." He laughs at his own comment before slipping out. As soon as the door closes a tight feeling of dread coils around Flug as he stands from the bed and begins to look around.

First he checks the dresser and the drawer in the nightstand. They're hard to open with his hands behind his back but he manages. Irritatingly enough, both are barren. Next he moves to the door to see if it's unlocked. He can't even get within a foot before an intense heat has him stumbling back. If he wasn't so agitated, he would have been intrigued by the probable magic.

The window doesn't seem to have the same effect on him. Outside, he can see a pool below. If he jumped and pushed himself off enough he could probably land in the water. The fall shouldn't be too far, he would survive if he didn't hit the edge of the pool.

He turns around and manages to get his finger under the handle of the window and attempts to pull it up. It opens slightly, but with such an awkward hold on it, Flug can't manage to push it up anymore. Turning back towards the window he tries to think of a way to open it more when the door opens.

Flug all but throws himself onto the bed as two women enter. They were both pale, and had red feathers poking from leathery looking skin. Their hair pulled into tight buns at the sides of their head that almost seemed to glitter. One woman had perfectly black eyes, where not even the lights added gleam to them. The other one had baby blue rings against black.

They chat with each other  enthusiastically in French in surprisingly low voices for their tiny frames. Each one carried a large suitcase. One covered in chaeta print, and the other a bright green. Flug carefully moves away from them on the bed as they enter and set their cases down on the ground. Neither one seems to take notice to them as they open their cases and begin to rummage around.

The black eyed woman's case was packed with clothes, sparkling dresses, dress shirts, trousers, heels and shoes. The other had make-up and perfumes in her case. The suit that is pulled out is an unappealing grey with thin strips that run vertically along the coat and trousers. The button up shirt was a yellowish green with orange buttons, the waistcoat a similar design.

For the first time they acknowledge Flug and beckon him over. When he doesn't budge one rounds the bed, grabs him by his collar and pulls him to the middle of the room. Where the other woman unlocks his handcuffs and strips him down him down to his boxers. He's dressed in the suit quickly and put back into restraints, this time his hands in front of him.

Once dressed, he's sat back on the foot of the bed and both women work on his face and hair. They keep a majority of the make-up to the right side of his face, leaving his scars untouched. His uncontrollable curls pushed back with copious amounts of moose so they wouldn't lay in his face. For the finishing touch they grab his goggles from the piles of clothes and carefully slip them on his head, helping to hold back his hair.

They women give him a once over before packing up their things and heading from the room. Leaving Flug alone. Once the door is closed he returns to the window and manages to pull it open a few more inches.

He's about to test if he could fit through when his shoulder is grabbed and wrenched back from the window. The French man with the facial scar glares down at him and closes the window loudly. Flug is then taken back out into the hallway and lead wordlessly into a back room, where  the Russian man, the reptilian woman, the twin boys, and L'épouvantable Crook’s apprentice where each were dressed in their own offensive suits or dresses with their wrists in handcuffs in front of them and their ankles chained together; with the exception of the Russian man, who is chained up much more heavily.

Flug is pushed against the wall by the French man, who retrieves a pair of shackles and makes quick work of shackling Flug's ankles together. Once the French man slips past the curtains that separates the backstage area from the stage, one of the twin boys can't control his fear anymore and bursts into tears. His brother quickly comforts him as best he can with bound hands.

Eventually he does calm down, just in time for the show to begin. Loud clicks of shoes grow close to the curtain before stopping. A man clears his throat as silence grips the room. All six of them stare at the curtain, some more angry than others.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” Golden Monarch greets loudly. “Welcome to the Prolétaire Auctions! I am truly honored to be your host this fine evening and am most certainly ravished to present to you our elite six servitors. Let us carry on with the auction now, shall we?” He chuckles. There’s quiet and polite laughter from the audience.

Trepidation grips Flug in that moment, like hot knife in his chest. He'd missed his chance. There was no escaping now. For a moment, he thinks he would have much rather a vicious tumble from the window into the concrete ground.

“First up, we have the probationer of Мастер меча, Андрей!” Golden Monarch announces merrily. The French man appears from the behind the curtain and grabs the Russian man. He fights back, but it's hard with his arms tired behind his back and a muzzle over his face. It takes a minute, but the French man eventually manages to get him past the curtains.

“Oh, would you _look_ at him? He’d make for an excellent bodyguard, or perhaps a knight in shining armor, ladies?” Golden Monarch giggles obnoxiously before beginning to quickly list off prices, which quickly climbed into the hundred millions.

Eventually, only Flug is left behind the curtain, the French man already holding his arm. The only thing he could do to keep from crying is tracing the pattern of the wooden floor with his eyes. It's barely a distraction, but a good enough one.

“And finally, we have a new villain’s employee on stage with us! BlackHat so generously left one of his workers unattended long enough for us to snag him, just for you! Guillemin, do bring him out.” The French man grunts and pulls Flug towards the curtain. He tries to dig his heels into the ground but that only makes him end up tripping on his feet when the man yanks him forward.

As he steps onto the stage he’s momentarily blinded by the spotlights turning to him. He raises his hands to block the light as a quiet murmur of confusion spread through the room.

“Ladies and gentlemen, Dr. Flug Slys!” Golden Monarch gives another proud little laugh. The numerous villains around the room ogle at him, presumably baffled BlackHat would allow a human to work for him.

“One million!” A woman yells and holds up a card with a number on it. Golden Monarch grabs his gavel and had a sheen in his eye of pure elation. Flug stood completely still as he listened to the numbers rise. Once or twice he tries to hide his face behind his hair, but the French man kept pushing it back out of his face and forcing him to look out at the crowd.

“Do I hear a nineteen million? nineteen million? Going once! Twice!” Golden Monarch paused for any last second bidders. When no one budged he slammed the gavel down on the podium. “Sold! For eighteen million nine hundred to number sixty-three!” He says with another bang of the gavel that sealed Flug’s fate.

All at once, everyone in the audience stood, and a quiet chatter filled the room. One scrawny man approached the stage as Flug was led back behind the curtain and through a set of doors to the left. He’s taken to what looks like a garage where a tall man approaches them a few minutes later wine glass in hand and Golden Monarch behind him.

It was the blonde haired man from earlier. His wire rimmed glasses sat low on the bridge of his nose. Pale pink eyes staring into Flug like he was an insect compared to him.

“Here he is, Mr. Tšernobog, your very own Flug Slys.” Golden Monarch says, checking that his slicked-back hair was still intact. Tšernobog grins at Flug and tosses his wine glass to the side. Flug flinches as the glass cracks loudly. He stops a few inches away from Flug and takes his face in his hands.

 He tilts his head every which way, pulls one eyelid at a time up to really get a good look at the scientist's eyes. He flinches as his thumbs smooth over his eyebrows before moving up to his hair. He tugs his goggles down around his neck before running his fingers through his hair as much as the orange coils will allow.

“I never expected you to be a _human_. Perhaps a Dullahan, or an elf, maybe even a Ljósálfr. Though, Norse origins would fail to explain the Germanic name.” He says, his voice indifferent. As if he hadn’t just bought a person. “Now that I see you closer, yes, you are most undoubtedly a human. I’m impressed a human of your meekness is a competent worker for BlackHat.”

Tšernobog steps back then, releasing Flug and placing a hand under his own chin. Golden Monarch watches him carefully, looking almost anxious. The human shifts miserably underneath all three of the men's gazes. Whatever Tšernobog was looking for seems to satisfy him and he manifests a large briefcase with a twirl of his hand. He hands it to Golden Monarch, who seems surprised by the weight of it.

“All of it’s in there. Now if you wouldn’t mind, please release him from those gauche bindings. They do look most unappealing.” Tšernobog says with disdain and turns towards a car. Golden Monarch gives the French man a look. The man releases Flug’s shoulder and reaches into his back pocket for his keys.

Flug tries to hold in his pleasure at being freed, the French man seems to notice however when he gives Flug a cold glare. When the man stands back up, Flug is nudged towards a black Renault Clio.

“I’ll let the two of you return to your party now. Hyvästi.” Tšernobog says, moving his hand up from the small of Flug’s back to the back of his neck. Golden Monarch nods and hands off the briefcase to the French man. He gives Flug a smile and wags his fingers before turning and heading back where he'd came from, his goon at his heals.

"Now," Tšernobog says and gives the back of Flug's neck a small squeeze to et his attention. He pops the car door open and gently pushes the scientist in. He doesn't resist and flinches away from the door as it's slammed closed.

Tšernobog walks around the front of the car to the driver's seat and slips in. Flug presses himself against the car door, Tšernobog diagonally from him. It would be easier for him to grab at Flug from this position, but it was easier for him to watch him. If the man would be driving, he most likely wouldn’t be able to reach into the backseat for a long time without having to look back at the road. The Renault Clio wasn’t a self-driving model.

The car powers on with a loud rumbling growl from the engine that reminded Flug of an angry BlackHat. For such a nice model, it sounded like a rabid dog was trapped in the hood.

“I’ve been wondering how much longer it would take for BlackHat to slip up and one of you to end up in there.” Tšernobog says as he buckles in. “Though, I always thought it would be the snake woman or the bear. You seem capable.” He says, looking at the human in the rearview mirror.

“I-” He hesitates as his eyes meet with pasty pink ones. “like to think I am.” He mumbles meekly.  Tšernobog chuckles and focuses momentarily on pulling out of his parking space.

“I find it hard to believe you willingly walked in there. You’re shaking like a leaf, this doesn’t seem like you hate your employer and decided normal jobs just aren't for you.” He says, turning his head to the side to make sure no one was coming out from the corner before he turned onto the main road, out of the parking complex.

“N-No.” Flug squeaks. “I quite…” He scrambles for a word. “Enjoyed my job in BlackHat Co.” He says as he notices the car doors were locked. Tšernobog gives him an amused look through the rearview mirror before turning his eyes back to the road.

The ride is silent for a while, Tšernobog had turned the radio on after a particularly lengthy wait at a traffic light. Soft, classical music kept Flug’s mind from spiraling too far. They seemed to be driving back into Germany, Flug wondered how’d he planned on smuggling Flug past the border.

They drove until there was no one else on the road with them. Tšernobog glances behind them before he steps on the gas and the car lurches forward. Panic immediately hits Flug as he watches the pedometer fly up in kilometers. He grabs onto the handle on the car door, not daring touch the handle unless he would fall out of the vehicle.

The needle hits two hundred when the windows begin to flash like they were traveling through tunnels. Eventually, the entire car is shrouded in darkness and Tšernobog slams on the brakes. Flug flies forwards and smacks his head into the back of the passenger seat. He quickly sits back and brings his hands up to cover his face, pain pulsating under his skin. There’s a peal of calm laughter from the front seat and the engine cuts off.

“I’m sorry, Doctor. Were you surprised?” Tšernobog asks mockingly as he unbuckles and climbs out from the car. Flug looks up from his palms, rubbing at his sore nose as Tšernobog rounds the back of the car. He quickly scrambles to the other side as his car door is popped open.

“See, I quite enjoy your circumspect. However, at the moment it’s more of an annoyance than amusing. So, please get out of the car.” He chastises and pats where Flug had been sat. Slowly, he makes his way over to the open door and slips out. “Very good.” He praises coldly and grabs his elbow, yanking him forwards and away from the car.

He’s pulled towards a large mansion, a building that looked more like a castle than anything else. It was made of thick stones with wooden accents on windowsills, the roof, and the door frames. Menacing gargoyles sat on the corners of the rooftop and atop windows. Leering down at their ground, most had bat-like wings expanding behind them and snarls across their pig-like faces.

The two large front doors open silently, as they approach. The strong smell of lavender wafts from deeper in the manor. Tšernobog lets go of Flug’s elbow and instead places a hand on his back, just underneath his shoulders.

“Regretfully, I haven’t the time to show you around quite yet. You’ll be put in your room until later tonight, where if you’ve behaved well, you will then be taken out to eat.” He says and guides Flug towards one of the two grand staircases.

He didn’t enjoy the prospect of being locked in a room all day. Even less without knowing what ‘behaved well’ constituted as. BlackHat’s idea of ‘well behaved’ was working himself into the ground and complaining about it as little as possible.

Whatever ‘well behaved’ meant, he didn’t care as long as he got food. And soon. He hadn’t eaten since the morning they left for Europe. If he didn’t get anything in him soon he felt as though he might keel over and finally leave this mortal plain. 

As they two reach the top of the stairs, a frail-looking woman in a stereotypical maid’s outfit and a feather duster in hand steps out of a room, quietly closing the door behind her. When she sees Tšernobog approaching her eyes widen and she presses herself against the door. He, however, doesn't pay her any mind and continues down the hall without so much as glance.

They stopped in front of a large metal door with a thick handle that, when pulled down would release the many locks and allow the door to open. When Tšernobog pulled the handle down, the door clicks a few times before it easily swings open. Inside is dark as night and smells overwhelmingly of lavender.

“This will be your room until you’ve proven yourself well behaved enough to earn a proper one.” Tšernobog says and gently shoves Flug in. The scientist stumbles over his own feet and nearly falls forwards as he enters. He turns around quickly to ask exactly what he meant when the door closed. The pins push back into place with little clicks.

The darkness consumed him then. His resolve quickly being eaten away by the absolute blackness and the stench of lavender that made his eyes water even through his goggles. There had to be a light switch. Somewhere.

With his last shred of hope, he moves toward the door, reaching out for it. His hand brushes the handle and he quickly grabs it. With a sharp tug, he finds it barely even moves. Returning to his original idea, he lets go and moves to feel the wall, brushing both hands along the surface for any hint of a switch or button.

The walls were completely smooth. Not so much as a bump or indent. Especially no light switches. Panic claws up from his stomach and through his entire body. There had to be one. There just had to be. Nevertheless, every wall is the same. Smooth and empty.

In his frantic searching, he trips over a mattress and lands face first into the wall. His goggles make a small cracking noise as they hit the wall. With a surprised yelp, he falls onto the mattress and cradles his face.

When did his nose start bleeding? Was it blood? He wasn’t sure, he couldn’t smell anything over the lavender.

It takes a while for him to recover from the fall. Deep breaths and nails digging into his knees eventually have him calm down enough to think. It almost reminds him of being back in the manor, after a late night of working and the insomnia is a bad mix with crippling anxiety.

Tšernobog fails to show. At first, Flug attempts to convince himself it was just that he had no perception of time. It was very plausible he'd only been in that room for either thirty minutes or three hours. Eventually, he conceded that Tšernobog wasn't going to let him out. He would be stuck in this room for however long. This was worse than most of what BlackHat had ever done to him.

Had he misbehaved? The only thing he could think if that constituted as misbehavior was him sniffling on the mattress for however long it took for his nose to stop bleeding.

Somehow, he had managed to fall asleep and was awoken by the clicking of the pins in the door slotting out of place. Momentarily, he's blinded by the light as the door opens. While his eyes are still squinted in an attempt to make out the figure in front of him, he's grabbed and hoisted up to his feet.

“Did you sleep well, Doctor?” Tšernobog asks and pulls him out of the room. “I'm glad to say you behaved very well.” He says coldly and closes the door again, but not flipping the switch.

“I did?” He asks meekly. Tšernobog nods and tightens his hold on Flug’s arm. The human holds in a whine as he's roughly yanks forwards. Tšernobog leads him down the staircase and into the kitchen where he forces Flug against the fridge and tells him to stay.

“To be truthful, Doctor, I was disappointed by your lack of struggling.” He says and turns on the stove as high as it could go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very nuch appreciated!


	4. Grausame Master

“Disappointed?” Flug asks as Tšernobog moves away from the stove.

“Yes. Aren’t kidnap victims supposed to at least cry?” He asks and approaches Flug. He takes the human’s hands and guides him over to the stove. “No matter, perhaps you’ve cried when I haven’t been around.” He says.

The coils have turned red hot by now, and Flug can feel the heat radiating from them. Tšernobog tightened his grip on Flug’s hand before raising it slowly. Almost instantly he realizes what he’s about to do and begins to struggle.

No matter how hard he fights against the man, he doesn’t react and instead lowers his arm towards the stove. He pauses just an inch above the stove top, the heat was enough to hurt, and the anticipation of even more- worse- pain made Flug burst into tears. Maybe if he gave him what he wanted he would stop.

Tšernobog only grinned and pressed his skin down into the coils. Flug screams at both the unfathomable pain and the sick sound of sizzling. The sensation of his skin burning and the heat searing his skin brings him back to the plane crash. The loud bang like a gunshot fills his ears and he can see the fire.

Fire everywhere. It’s hot, so uncomfortably hot. There’s blood on his tongue and- oh god- his leg should not bend like that. Was that bone? Suddenly his flight jacket sleeve catches fire.

What snaps him back to the present is Tšernobog letting go of his hand. He pulls his arm and stumbles back and hits the island in the middle of the room, gasping for breath and sobbing hysterically. Through his tears, he tries to look at Tšernobog, who turns the stove off with a smile and a laugh. When he steps towards Flug, he scrambles backward, hitting his hip on the corner of the island and falls on the ground.

“Would you like me to kiss it better? Just a quick little suudella.” He mocks, clasping his hands under his chin. Flug frantically shakes his head, cradling his arm to his chest and turning away from him choking on a sob. “Oh, whatever could I do to have you forgive my clumsiness?” He asks and makes his way towards the cowering human.

He grabs the arm covering the injured one and forces him to his feet. With a pitiful pule he attempts to pull away but Tšernobog’s grip is firm. He pulls Flug away from the fridge and opens the door. From the fridge, he pulls a small apple and hands it to Flug.

“Let’s get you back to your room,” Tšernobog says and pats Flug on the back before grabbing his hair and walking him back to his room like a dog on a leash.

Flug curls up on his shabby mattress as the door closes and the pins click into place. Pushing the applee to the side, he cradles his arm to his chest, careful to not let the burns touch anything.

He can still taste the blood on his tongue.

* * *

BlackHat met with Naxxremis early that morning. She stop wouldn’t stop smirking at him as they made their way towards a separate restaurant. A Blemmyes takes their order soon after the two of them sit down, Nemesis stands behind their master’s chair.

“I’m glad you’re willing to come back to us.” She says with a grin and taps her nails on the table. BlackHat wishes he could tear her nails from her fingers and shove them down her throat.

“The sole reason I’ve returned to you is for my scientist. And I have great reason to believe you’ve put him on sale.” He accuses. Naxxremis puts on a fake look of shock as Nemesis stiffen behind her.

“Oh, don’t tell me you’ve fallen to the level of false allegations. How inflammatory!” She giggles mockingly, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. BlackHat’s eye narrows and he clenches his fists on the table.

“If you return him now I will make your torture minimal.” He hisses. She titters and Nemesis begin to round the table, one on each side. Two tendrils lash out from BlackHat and snap both their necks. They fall to the floor with heavy thumps.

Naxxremis sits up straight then, her smile gone. BlackHat revels at the fear in her eyes. His enjoyment is quickly interrupted by a loud clatter of a server dropping her tray at the sight of the dead bodies. He rises from his seat as the server scrambles away from their table and grabs Naxxremis, forcing her to stand.

“If you do not tell me, your death will be much slower.” He threatens and tightens his hold on her arm. She remains silent, simply glaring at him for killing her pet. Deciding he needed a more secluded place for wringing information from her. One with less screaming humans.

He teleports them to the roof of the restaurant and drops a nauseous Naxxremis to the ground. She covers her mouth and swallows thickly. He grabs her hair and forces her to look up.

“Where is my scientist?” He demands. Taking a moment to collect herself, she grins up at him.

“How am I supposed to know?” She asks, wincing as her hair is tugged so hard her entire body lurches to the left. “He was already sold off!” She yelps.

“To who?” He asks, several more teeth pushing out from his gums. As his rage grew, he found it increasingly difficult to keep her alive.

“I wasn’t there.” She admits. “They went up to the Prolétaire Auctions.”

“They?” He asks, finding it somewhat difficult to properly pronounce words with several more teeth and another tongue.

“That’s all you’ll get from me. He’s as good as dead, BlackHat!” She yells and attempts to pull his hand out of her hair. She struggles for a moment before looking back up at BlackHat. The Eldritch demon had completely abandoned his humanoid form, instead adopting one that was a writhing mess of both human and animal limbs and organs.

Black tendrils shoot from the grotesque mass, grabbing hold of each one of Naxxremis’ limbs. They begin to simultaneously squeeze and pull away from her torso. As she’s slowly stretched apart she screams and whines in agony, bones splintering under the grip of the tendrils.

“Golden Monarch!” She screams. Almost instantly, she’s released and BlackHat returns to his usual form with a quiet squelch.

“What?” He demands, grabbing her throat and forcing her to look at him. Her eyes squeeze close and she pants heavily before letting her head fall back. Not allowing her to pass out, he uses his other hand to dig his claws into her stomach. She jolts back up with a mewl of pain.

“I handed him over to Golden Monarch to take him to France.” She says. Her pitiful, terrified expression gained no sympathy from the demon. In fact, he soaked it in. Drew great pleasure from her fear of death.

“You’re worthless.” He growls before tearing her apart with several tentacles. He wipes the blood off his monocle before dropping the bloodied arm and retracting his extra appendages back into himself.

* * *

The next time Flug is taken out of the dark room, Tšernobog leads him down to a large library and is told to read. What exactly was up to the scientist. Sheepishly, he grabs a copy of _Nibelungenlied_ and looks back to Tšernobog. He inspects the book in his hands before nodding and pointing him to a velvet chaise lounge.

He takes the book and sits but watches Tšernobog move about the library. He’ll occasionally fix a book or open curtains. Flug only opens the book to a random page when Tšernobog turns and begins to make his way back over to the scientist.

He tilts Flug’s head up with his index finger, glancing down at the page he’s been pretending to read. The human swallowed thickly, fear clenching in his stomach. Tšernobog smiles down at him, lowering himself down onto the seat beside Flug. Moving an uncomfortably cold hand from under his chin to the side of his face.

“How’s your arm?” He asks gently. As if he hadn’t done it himself. Flug takes a moment to respond, tightening his grip on the book.

“I don’t think it’s infected.” He mutters, moving the aforementioned arm away an inch or two. Tšernobog tuts quietly and gently takes hold of his wrist on his injured arm and raises it so he could get a better look at it.

“Want me to kiss it better?” He asks. Flug is visibly taken aback by this question, making Tšernobog chuckle.

“I-I don’t th-think that would b-be, uh, wise, Sir.” He squeaks and attempts to gently pull his arm away. Tšernobog chuckles and lowers his face towards his arm, the scientist’s eyes widen and he tries again to pull away.

“I’m kidding!” He laughs and draws back. “You know, I was tough on you last night to ensure you wouldn’t act out. I’ve heard wonderful things about your spinelessness.” He says that like it’s a compliment. Anger sets a fire in Flug’s gut, he tries to hide it by looking over to the copy of _Nibelungenlied._

“Aw, don’t pout, Hun.” Tšernobog coos, tilting Flug’s head so he had to look at him. “Let’s get you something for your arm.” He says and pats Flug’s cheek before standing up from the lounge chair.

He follows him out of the library. As they pass, a man in a suit spots them and ducks into a room, quietly closing the door behind him. Flug wishes he could just hide away from this man, let someone else take whatever tests of his submissiveness are to come.

They enter a sizeable bathroom, made mostly of marble and gold trimming. Tšernobog pops open the door of a cabinet over the toilet. He pulls a small basket with disinfectants, gauze, rags, and suturing needles. There is no way Flug is about to allow that man to come near him with a needle, lest he sews mouth or eyes closed.

He picks up a rag and a bottle of disinfectant, showing them to Flug with a little shake of each item and a grin. Thankfully, he leaves the needles in the basket.

“C-Could I clean it m-myself?” He asks quietly, reaching for the rag Tšernobog had put on the counter so he could open the bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He’s answered with a pointed look and quickly draws his hand away.

Tšernobog pours a small amount of the disinfectant on the rag and pats Flug’s arm a bit too rough. In all honesty, he was surprised he hadn’t popped the small blisters. Once done, he tosses the rag onto the counter and grabs the roll of gauze and partially unrolls it.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” He asks as he begins to wrap Flug’s arm, just a tab bit too tight. “Just how delicate your skin really is. How delicate the _entirety_ of you is.” His fingers hesitate and he grips the gauze a bit tighter, seeming to have realized something.

“I-I don’t know.” He mutters. Tšernobog pats his arm once he’s finished wrapping the wound. He doesn’t say anything as he sets the basket away and ushers Flug out of the bathroom.

Tšernobog closes the bathroom door behind himself as he steps out. He grabs Flug by the elbow on his good arm and guides him towards the main entrance, where he then takes him up the right side of the staircase.

The hall looks no different than all the others in the manor, but the paintings had deviated from the usual classical and the mural of Tšernobog. Instead, it seemed to be a series of paintings, in which a woman was slowly torn and mauled until the last painting was simply a pile of gore.

The last door on the hall had several bolt locks on it and clasp lock with a padlock hanging from above the handle. It takes a minute for Tšernobog to unlock everything and to get the door open.

Inside is a comfortable looking bedroom. There was a large bed with thick velvet blankets and enough pillows to cover the entirety of the bed against the left wall with a large window over it. An armoire was against the right wall, it’s two doors chained closed with a thin chain and padlock.

“This, Doctor, is _our_ room.” Tšernobog says and guides the human into the room.

“Ours?”

“Why, yes. You think I’d leave you alone? In this big of a house?”

Flug restrains himself from pointing out that he had, he wouldn’t risk another moment in that room. This one didn’t smell as strongly as lavender.

Suddenly, Tšernobog’s hand moves from his shoulder down his back to stop at his waist. He’s shoved onto the bed face first, hitting the soft mattress with a yelp. In seconds Tšernobog is on top of him, flipping him overlay on his back.

Flug tries to push him off, but his arms are quickly pinned over his head. Tšernobog takes a moment to look at the pinned human underneath him. Expression one of pure, despicable pleasure.

“Struggle.” He says, watching the human squirm under him like a cat that had caught its prey. “C’mon,” He chuckles and holds both of his wrists in one hand, freeing his other hand to move Flug’s head to the side, exposing his neck.

This only makes the human fight more and Tšernobog takes a moment to get a good grip on his wrists again before proceeding. He swipes his tongue over his teeth and leans in closer to Flug; who gives a sharp “No!” despite not really knowing what he was attempting. Just knowing it was going to involve teeth and his throat, and that he wanted none of it.

Tšernobog holds still for a moment, allowing the human’s fear to build, soaking it in. He practically purrs as the sent of panic fills the room. Slowly, he presses his lips to the human’s neck, nipping at the skin with sharp canines.

“Stop- What are you-” Flug screams as his teeth dig into his skin. As the human screams he pauses, pink eyes opening for a moment before he grins against Flug’s skin and sinks his teeth even deeper. Flug jerks and howls in pain as blinding waves of pain shoot out from the one side of his neck to the rest of his body.

The feeling of Tšernobog’s teeth slowly sliding out of his neck and the unhurried drag of his tongue over the punctures, tasting the blood, made Flug want to vomit. Tšernobog gives another small nip before climbing off Flug and straightening out his button up.

Blood had already stained the collar of Flug’s undershirt, and the pain pulsated like a heartbeat over his shoulder. He attempts to sit up, but nausea overtakes him and he falls back down onto the pillows. Tšernobog chuckles at this and licks his lip for any remaining drop.

“You’re mine now,” He says, almost mockingly. “I’ve marked you and don’t intend to let you go.” The human makes no attempt to protest or move away from the approaching demon. He was burning, his skin felt like goo, his blood pulsated on his scalp in the most irritating way, and his fingers were going numb.

Was this how being marked was really supposed to feel like? Like he’d just been torn apart and crudely sewn back together?

Tšernobog carefully lays him into a more comfortable position under the blankets, much to Flug’s dismay. The overwhelming heat only doubled once the blanket was on top of him. It felt like it was made of concrete. Tšernobog smooths Flug’s hair from his face- as best he could as it kept springing back over his forehead- and smiled at him.

“What you should be feeling now is only temporary, however, so is the mark. The nausea and weakness with pass within a few hours or overnight. You may not be able to eat tomorrow, but that’s just a side effect of my claiming technique.” There were so many questions in Flug’s head now. But he couldn’t find the strength to ask them. He could barely find the strength within himself to maintain breathing as he was.

They stay in silence for a few long moments.  Tšernobog looking all too pleased with himself, and Flug with his eyes squeezed and panting out weak breaths. Finally, Tšernobog seems to grow bored of watching him lay there and pulls away. There’s a quiet rattle and something freezing clasped around one of Flug’s ankles before the door opens and closes with a click. Followed by the sounds of each and every bolt lock clicking into place.

An uneasy sleep grips him after a while of silence.

* * *

 The three days had come and past in which the two were usually away at the convention. Which would not worry the two remaining occupants of BlackHat Manor had they received any word from either man that they were prolonging their stay.

What was more worrying for 5.0.5 was that while neither of them returned, the suitcase his parent had taken was back into BlackHat’s master bedroom. Each invention his parent had slaved over for weeks neatly put away. Each still smelled solely of his parent and BlackHat, as if no one else had looked at the weapons or attempted to buy them.

Dementia didn’t seem to care. She carried on lazing about the manor and trashing the kitchen. She did notice the suitcase’s return, that they weren’t back, the nagging feeling in her gut something was incredibly wrong. She simply didn’t plan to do anything about it.

No matter what had thrown itself at her creator, he constantly managed to claw his way out, albeit perhaps bleeding and crying.

She never understood the bag. He had told her it was personal, but that was the same jargon he gave to everyone. Everyone knew of the plane crash that had led him here, but he never divulged more than the plane he was flying and how he came across the job offer in a paper.

Only 5.0.5 had ever seen his face bag free. And the bear swore on his life he would never tell anyone what Flug looked like, which earned him more than a few annoyed kicks and pranks from Dementia; who was more curious what her creator looked like than BlackHat.

When 5.0.5 first noticed the suitcase’s inexplicable return, he had wanted to try and find them. They both knew where they would be staying and where the convention place was, Flug had left them a letter, as he does every year, explaining as much.

However, neither of them had any way to each Germany without being detained. Furthermore, Dementia never listened when Flug occasionally taught 5.0.5 german. The bear only knew the basics, and couldn't even pronounce any words to teach Dementia how to properly say them, much less to other people who couldn’t understand him either way.

With that option gone, all they _could_ do was continue to maintain the manor until their return. That and hope nothing terrible had happened.

Dementia took this time to snoop about BlackHat’s office, to try and figure out if he was in love with her yet, and if he had any ads he hadn’t put out yet. It was best if other villains didn’t notice his absence, lest they take advantage of it and attack the manor. That was the last thing an already frazzled 5.0.5 needed to clean up.

Luckily, she did find a few unreleased files on BlackHat’s ancient computer. She ordered CamBot to publish them as usual, even in its master’s absence. Truthfully, she didn’t know if CamBot had the ability to publish its recordings. In fact, she didn’t know _who_ published them. They just got out.

As she left the office, she heard a quiet thud in the room she had just left. Turning back around she peeked back into the room. On the desk was another small suitcase, one she had only seen in BlackHat’s room.

Slowly, she creeps back into the room and undoes the buckles. Inside are some of Flug’s clothes. Including his stupid plane shirt. She waits for a minute or two for a suitcase containing something of BlackHat’s. However, when nothing else appears, she closes the suitcase and picks it up from the table.

When she presents the suitcase to 5.0.5 the bear gives a little confused ‘baroo’ and takes it. As he picks up his parent’s shirt his ears flatten against his head. He looks at Dementia with the most pitiful and scared expression, she almost laughs at it.

“Geez, Bear. Don’t look at me like that. It ain't like he’s dead.” She says and runs her fingers through her hair.

5.0.5, seemingly to have not thought of that beforehand, gives her an even more worried look and whines anxiously. He hugs the shirt closer to his chest as if he had died.

“BlackHat would’a said something if the nerd was in trouble.” She says dismissively and begins to rummage around in the bag for one of Flug’s least offensive articles of clothing. Yeah, she would deny the hell out of missing her creator, but it was weird not having him there.

He’d been in the manor nearly every day since both of them were created. Occasionally leaving with BlackHat to go to conventions for exactly three days twice a year. Never had they stayed over the three days in Europe.

Deciding that a grey sweater with a slightly singed shoulder was good enough, she plucks it from the bag. 5.0.5 had now taken to whining about what could go wrong, or where they could be, are they hurt, and other things Dementia didn’t care to listen to as she slid on the sweater.

“You keep worrying, I’m going to go break something.” She says and spins around on her heel and quickly skips away from the bear, who didn’t seem to hear her or notice her leaving until she was long gone.


	5. Fälschung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Warning: Gore, Abuse, Murder, Some Unwanted Advancements

As Flug opened his eyes, the first thing he noticed was a familiar silhouette in the doorway. _BlackHat_. There he stood, leaning against the doorway with a hand on his hip. He jolts up in bed with a quiet gasp. Hope and excitement fluttered in his chest, so much so he nearly grinned. He’d be out of here soon. Be back in the manor and have 5.0.5 to read to and Dementia to scold.

He _actually_ came for him.

“ _Jefe_?” He asks hopefully, moving further down on the bed, squinting to distinguish BlackHat’s features in the dim lights. BlackHat gives his familiar, sinister chuckle and moves further in the room, leaving the door open.

 “I’ve torn up half of Germany looking for you, Doctor.” He says, monocle flashing in the moonlight coming from the window. “It’s past time we leave this wretched country and return home.”

“I need my bag.” Flug says, remembering he was without it and pushing his hair over his scars. It was too late now. But something in the softness of BlackHat’s expression made him feel shy and flustered. Never had he smiled at him like _that_. Like he was precious, valuable.

“No need, Doctor. Let’s focus on getting you home.” He says, tone sweet and smooth as he approaches the bed. Flug moves to stand up but finds he can't move his ankle. BlackHat notices and pulls the cover away and frowns at the shackle on his ankle connecting him to the bedpost. With one quick swipe of his claw, he breaks the metal cuff off and lifts Flug from the bed and sets him on the ground. Quickly, the human turns away from BlackHat to hide his flushed face and peers out the door. No one was in the hallway.

“Jefe, did you pass Tšernobog on your way here?” He asks and turns back to him. The demon pulls a disgusted face and scoffs, strolling from the room casually.

“That was that lowlife’s name?” He snarls as Flug quickly joins his side. “I took care of him.” He says. That eases Flug’s nerves, however, he didn’t stop from looking around the halls as they slowly made their way away from the room.

“Jefe,” Flug hesitates when BlackHat looks over at him. Seeming to notice his apprehension, he gives Flug another one of those oddly amazing smiles and puts his hand on his shoulder.

“No need to be afraid, Doctor.” He says and Flug allows himself to relax into his touch. He was going to be free soon. He was so close. “Don’t you see? You’re mine now.” BlackHat’s voice changes into Tšernobog’s as he spoke. Flug’s blood ran cold. His eyes snapped open and he ripped himself away from BlackHat. A moment later BlackHat’s skin melts away and morphs back into Tšernobog, grinning at him wildly.

“What’s wrong, Doctor? Surprised I’m not you _Jefe_?” He teases and stalks towards Flug like a feral animal on the hunt. Quickly he backs away until his back bumps the wall and Tšernobog is inches away, breath coming out in growls and hisses. His eyes wild, looking like he might tear out Flug’s throat. “Am I not who you want me to be?” He snarls, a hand quickly coming up and clasps at Flug’s throat. The human gasps and attempts to pry the hand away but to no avail. He lets him struggle for a few long moments before softening his grip. Flug gasps for breath, lightly clawing at his hand. Tšernobog leans in closer to the human, eyes half-lidded.

“Or is it just you’re the shy type?” He purrs. This flip of a coin temper change had Flug’s already panicky mind reeling. No longer did he look like he might murder him, more like he was the love of his life. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of that shell.” With that, he pecks Flug’s cheek and pulls him away from the wall. He stumbles as Tšernobog lets go of him. The demon begins to circle the human, arms folded behind his back.

After a long stretch of silence before he muttered something, Flug didn’t quite catch before he lunged at him. Tšernobog grabbed his hair, pulling his head back and digging razor sharp claws into his stomach. As the pain ripped through his stomach, he gave a pained scream.

His body hit the hardwood with a loud thud. He curls in on himself, pressing his hands over the three jagged wounds in his stomach. The blood was warm and sticky and appeared black in the pale light.

Tšernobog inhaled loudly and knelt in front of Flug. Dipping his finger into the quickly growing pool he brings it to his lips and licks it off. At this point, Flug found he couldn’t bring himself to care. He hoped he bled out on this floor. He’s rolled onto his back and one hand is raised above him. He grabs his wrist slowly tightened until Flug was screaming and crying as his bones crunched. His broken wrist is then dropped and he yawps as it hits the ground.

“You look tired, Darling.” He coos and scoops him up bridal style. At the sudden movement, Flug gives a weak and pitiful groan and curls in on himself. “See? You’ve already tired yourself out.” He chuckles and carries him back to the bedroom. The bed is nice and soft against Flug’s back, who is perfectly content to die then and there. To have this finally all be over. And maybe if he woke up, he’d be back in the manor, like this was all just another dream his trauma had concocted.

Sadly, when he awoke, he was in the same bed. The sheets stained in blood, and his wounds miraculously healed. A sob tore through him at the realization. He would never get out of here. Never be free. Never see his creations again. Never make anything to be sold. Never spend long nights curled up in his bed with 5.0.5 and rant until they both pass out. Never wear his bag again.

He can’t stop crying until the sun is bathing the entire room in an unwelcomed, warm glow. There’s nothing more he wants then to shrivel up and disappear into a ball of sorrow and misery, to not be disturbed until he’s done being sad and angry. The anger would come soon, it always follows misery.

Flug supposes it was the impact of the crash when he hit his head. Perhaps some sort of brain damage made him who he was today, or woke up the dormant, cruel part of himself. Now, he wishes instead of half a mauled face and torso (Which he had been thankful was the extent of the burn scars before,) he had simply melted in the crash. Been pinned in a way so he couldn’t get out and cooked alive.

By the time he even thought of getting out of bed, away from the scratchy, bloodstained cloth, he found his ankle was once again bound. This time, Tšernobog had been stupid enough to use a rope. He doesn’t think about how he escaping so easily could be what Tšernobog had wanted, why he used rope in the first place. He just wanted the damn thing off. It was scratchy and tied too tight. The knot is easy enough to get undone.  

He shakes it off and climbs off the bed, sending a glare at the stained sheets. He makes his way over the chained closed armoire. The padlock holding the chin in place was quite rusted, which was quite a stark contrast to how immaculate the rest of the room was.

* * *

 

BlackHat had assumed after he killed Naxxremis that it’d be harder to find Golden Monarch. Instead, when he went to the vampiress’ manor and investigated her office and found a paper that detailed the exact hotel the auction was set up in and two groups labeled ‘Servitors’ and ‘High-Profilers’ the latter Flug was under.

The hotel Golden Monarch was staying in- Hotel Adlon Kempinski- was quite the ways away from Naxxremis’ edifice. He would have to find a way to make it over there in a timely manner. He wanted to make a grand appearance, tear out the throats of everyone in the building until they give up his scientist. Then he would maul Golden Monarch so slowly until there is no more bones left to break or organs left to devour.

When he exits the building and makes his way back to the man road he conceals himself in a more human form and hails a taxi. Once inside the vehicle, he tears the driver’s head from his shoulders, spine coming off with it. Discarding the newly dead man to the passenger seat he seats himself behind the wheel and takes a moment to scowl at the cat keychain hanging from the rearview mirror. Then, with all traffic laws be damned, he steps heavily on the gas. The tires squeal against the pavement before the car shoots forward and he’s speeding down the road. The head on the seat behind him rolls to the side as they begin to move, eventually ending up on the ground.

Hotel Adlon Kempinski is a two-hour drive. The building is an imposing building. Light gold walls and many windows gave off the impression of royalty and prestige. BlackHat could only imagine painting the walls in Golden Monarch’s blood. He pulls the car to a stop on the side of the road and climbs out. Not bothering at all to covering up the obviously decapitated man leant against the passenger window. BlackHat fixes his suit jacket as he approaches the building.

Inside is spacious and luxurious. Certainly a place no scoundrel like Monarch belonged. Immediately in front of him is a marble fountain surrounded by many comfortable chairs and round tables. To the right is a bar and the left is the receptionist’s desk. Similarly dressed men behind both counters. BlackHat heads to the left, cane clicking against the marble floor as he walks. The man looks up from a computer and gives him a pleasant smile. It annoys the demon, he ought to cower away from him, tell him where his damn scientist is.

“I want you to tell me where Golden Monarch is.” He hisses, having his cane disappear as he sets his hands on the counter separating them. The receptionist gives him a confused look. He asks something in German, fingers tapping at the keys on their keyboard. BlackHat gives a frustrated growl and pushes away from the counter. He morphs his face into that of Golden Monarch and points to himself sharply.

“Me.” As BlackHat’s head morphs into that of Golden Monarch’s the receptionist’s expression changes from awkward confusion to horror. His grips at the counter and nods frantically. He speaks again and scrambles for a pen and something to write on. He takes a small business card and flips it over. He looks down at the numbers and changes his form back into his usual one. Without another glance at the human, he departs from the desk and heads towards an elevator.

It’s a short ride, one filled with anxious and indignant pacing. The doors open slowly and give a nearly mocking ding once he reaches the third floor. Humans mingle in the halls quietly, one seems to take notice of BlackHat but doesn’t react with anything more than a silent gasp and retreating to their room.

They should fear him. He was two more interruptions in finding his scientist from bringing Hell to the surface. Room two O' six is at the end of the hall. As inconspicuous as every other door.

He grabs the handle and gives it a hard twist nearly pulling the handle form the door. However, it doesn’t budge, not even when he tries once more to rip it out. There must be something protecting the room. It then, once he pays close enough attention, he notices the hint of magic surrounding the door.  As if it had only been cast recently.

This sort of protection spell wasn’t uncommon for most villains to use. It used the least amount of energy and was strong enough to resist most anything. The traces of magic also dissipated faster; meaning if the spell was left long enough the use of magic at all would be nearly undetectable.

However, BlackHat was not most anything. And this spell was mere child’s play to him by now. He digs his claws into the wood, a light shimmer surrounds his fingers before fizzling out and disappearing down the door.

With his earlier anger dissolving at the sudden thrill of the hunt, he opens the door slowly and slips in silently. The room appears as if no one had ever even touched it. The bed made, curtains pulled back to let the sun in, not a speck of dust anywhere.

Despite that, the room had his scent markings all over it. On the bed, dresser, door, and the curtains. It was obvious he wasn't here now; so he would wait.

Closing the door behind himself he fully steps into the room. He takes a seat at the foot of the bed and folds his hands comfortably in his chest. Golden Monarch was in for a little surprise when he returned.

* * *

 

Flug hadn’t been able to pick the lock open before he heard footsteps down the hall and threw himself back on the bed, shoving himself under the sheets like he had just woken up. Slowly, the door opens and a petite girl peeks in. Her eyes widen when she notices he’s awake.

The two stared at each other for a long while. It was nice to finally see another face. Eventually, she steps in, holding a small tray with folded clothes and a paper bag on it. She quickly sets the tray down on the foot of the bed as Flug sits up and scrambles away from each other. She had nearly white hair and bright blue eyes. They reminded Flug of 5.0.5.

She stares at him like he’s an alien creature, and he supposes he’s staring back in a similar manner. For a moment he worries if she’s just Tšernobog in disguise again. It seemed almost too good.

“You have to help me out of here.” He says suddenly, surprising even himself. She draws back quickly and shakes her head.

“Oh no!” She gasps and lowers her voice. “Whoever tries to leave the Master’s manor will die.” She says through a heavy German accent.

“Please.” He begs sitting up on his knees and leaning towards her. She takes a cautious step back. Perhaps she believed he was Tšernobog in disguise as well.

“If I help he will kill me.” She says, hands messing with soft curls of hair. At that moment he wanted to scream. He couldn’t fault her for not wanting to get herself killed by helping him escape, he would probably feel the same.

“You won’t die. If anything I would. Please, I just- I need to get home.” Despite his pleading, she shakes her head firmly and quickly turns and makes her way out closing and locking it behind her.

After a moment, he deflates and presses his face to his hands and growls angrily into them. This man had his servants under his foot as BlackHat had him back at the manor.

Lifting himself from the bed he finally gets a closer look at the tray. The paper bag was too small to fit over his head properly. Instead, he found as he lifted it up there was something inside. Cautiously, he reaches in and pulls out his glasses, one lens still cracked. He tosses the paper bag to the side and quickly pulls his goggles back into place.

The clothes neatly folded on the tray are similar to the ones he wore to the convention. A white button up, black dress coat and slacks. There isn’t much thought as he strips off the blood-stained clothes he’s been wearing for a few days now and slips on the clean ones.

There’s a slight temptation to try and fit the bag over his head. It would probably tear in half if he did, so any attempt would be pointless. But it was habit by now; he’d worn them so long. Setting the bag down he huffs angrily and sits back down on the bed. Somehow waiting for Tšernobog to return is more nerve-wracking than being in front of the man. There was no way of knowing if he was watching or not, where he was, what he planned to do next.

This feeling of absolute dread and a hint of spite, reminded him of his first week in the manor. When he’s been even more terrified of BlackHat and had yet to create either 5.0.5 or Dementia to distract himself with. The thought was nearly humorous. How his life seemed to be a cycle of repeating events. Not that he had been kidnapped to this degree before, but he supposed it counted. Now all that needed to repeat was his return to the manor. Preferably without him being lit ablaze this time.

He sits there for who knows how long before Tšernobog returns. The sun is already set by the time the demon makes his grand entrance. The door swings open and Tšernobog, dressed in what appears to be velvet sleepwear, steps in. He quickly makes his way over to the bed and pulls Flug up to his feet.

Sharp nails dig into his hips as Tšernobog pulls his close and buries his nose into Flug’s neck, inhaling deeply with a satisfying growl. For a moment, the human is unable to move, surprised by the sudden intimacy. Sharp teeth nip at his skin and he attempts to push him away.

“Do you like the clothes?” He mumbles against his neck. Flug hesitates, having to force himself to breathe and respond coherently.

“I-I do. Thank you.” Partially, he wishes it was a lie. Truthfully, he was grateful to get out of that frumpy outfit. He can feel Tšernobog smile and hum lightly.

“That’s good.” He murmurs. “I had dinner made for us.” He says as he wraps his arms around Flug’s waist and rocks the two side to side. The human pushes against his shoulders again and leans his head away from his.

“We sh-should get going then.” He pauses to allow him to respond. When he receives no response he continues nervously. “W-Would want it to get cold.”

“Hmm. Yes. You are hungry, aren’t you.” Tšernobog draws back to look at him. His expression is unreadable as he looks him over. “You look as though you may snap in half.” He chuckles and pecks Flug’s scarred cheek before letting him go.

He then leaves the room, leaving the door open. Flug rubs at his cheek and hesitantly follows him out. Outside the room, the blue-eyed woman peeks out of a doorway. When their eyes meet again she quickly disappears behind the door.

The manor is silent, save for their footsteps. The exact opposite of the manor, he realizes halfway down the stairs. All those nights he wishes the manor was as silent as this were a waste. Now all he wanted was noise. Be it a hum of a heater, an open window, or even quiet talking amongst the people that obviously worked here.

Plates are already set out when they reach the kitchen. On each is a bowl of Caldo verde and a spoon. Tšernobog leads him to his seat, going so far to pull it out for him.

“I trust you enjoy Caldo verde. If not, I can have another dish made for you.” He says and rounds the long table to take his own seat. Flug picks up his spoon. At this point he was just so hungry he didn’t care when he put in his stomach, as long as it filled him up.

“No.” He says quickly as he notices the pointed stare from the man sat across from him. “This is fine.” He probably should have eaten more of the cantaloupe before he was taken from the dark room.

Tšernobog doesn’t respond, instead he looks down to his food and appears bored by it. He probes at it with his spoon and stirs it absentmindedly. When not messing with his food he stares shamelessly at Flug.

Who was trying his best to eat quickly without making a mess or looking like he was rushing. If he were anyone else, he would have no second thoughts about telling them to slow down, to not look like they were trying to gorge themselves. But with Flug he made an exception.

His desperation was attractive.

* * *

 

When Golden Monarch arrives at the room he enters with a martini glass in hand. He looks serene and even giggles as he closes the door behind himself. It takes him a moment to notice BlackHat, still sat on the foot of the bed. When he does, he freezes up, glass nearly slipping from his fingers.

“BlackHat!” He forces a large grin and swirls the remaining liquid around in his glass. There’s no doubt he knew why he was here. Perhaps he even knew what was going to be done to him. No reason to let that spoil the fun. “My, what do I thank for this visit?”

“My scientist, I suppose.” He replies and slowly uncrosses his legs. Golden Monarch's face twists into one of mild confusion, but his eyes betray his terror.

“Dr. Flug? Oh, and where is he?” He asks and shakily sets the glass down on a bookshelf. There really was no use in playing dumb. Not when he was staring his demise in the eye. But he was bullheaded, and in this till the end.

“I don’t know, would you mind telling me?” BlackHat rises from the bed. This was entirely too easy. It was almost boring.

“I haven’t seen him since the convention.” Golden Monarch lies and smooths hands over a now ridiculous feeling golden suit.

“You didn’t see him at the auction?” He replies and adjusts him monocle. Golden Monarch flinches at that and his smile finally slips away. Perhaps he should make him out to the street. Make an example of him.  

“My memory’s hazy.” He mutters, an unreadable expression clouding his face. “How long do you plan to drag this out?” BlackHat rolled his eye at that and settles back onto the bed.

“As long as it takes, I suppose.” He says and takes to inspecting his claws. “How long do you plan to drag it out?” And truly, it was up to him. It could be quick, as quick as a brutal mutilation could get, if he coughed up his scientist now.

He looks him the eyes, gaze full of defiance and a hot anger. Oh, it would be like that, then? BlackHat may turn to like this evening after all.


	6. Kerzenleuchter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Content Waring: Gore, A lot of eye horror this chapter for some reason,

Golden Monarch had been resilient. He’d survived having his bones broken, losing his arms and legs, and even an eye. It was only as BlackHat’s claw neared his remaining eye when he started actually talk.

“He’s in France!” Was the first thing that he screamed. He was shaking violently, and trying to pull his face from BlackHat’s claw. “He’s in France and he’s already been sold!”

“Sold?” BlackHat snarls and pulls his face closer. “To who?”

Golden Monarch doesn’t respond, instead the full weight of the situation finally seems to dawn on him and he dissolves into gross sobs. It was rather pathetic to watch, a partially blind torso shivering and blubbering.

“Keep focus would you, Monarch?” He snaps and lowers his claw into the man’s eye socket. A scream rips through him as the eye pops. BlackHat curls his talon inside his socket before pulling it out.

“Do tell where my scientist is you lowlife scum.” He says. Golden Monarch yells a bit more, face twisting up in pain and terror. BlackHat lets him squirm for a moment, practically drinking in the man's agony. The absolute pleasure that BlackHat derived from the shakily hovering torso and head in front of him was almost palpable.

When he still doesn't talk his pleasure quickly sizzles out. He would rather prefer to have him speak than have to scavenge about Golden Monarch's papers to figure it out himself. It'd be much easier for the both of them if he'd spit it up already.

"Tšnerobog!" He yelps as BlackHat curls a claw around his throat. He squeezes to tell the demon to continue. “He lives north of Brunnenkopf!”

“Brunnenkopf?” BlackHat hisses and loosens his hold on his neck. “Where is that?” He demands.

Demons are resilient creatures. The mere fast Golden Monarch has survived this long is a testament to that. But the blood loss and trauma is taking its toll on his body.

BlackHat can tell he’s losing him by the way his mouth hangs open and his eyelids fall closed over empty and blood filled sockets. Somehow, the short stubs that are his appendages still dripped with blood, not yet dried even after a long while of trying to have him talk.

He drops the demon’s body onto the blood soaked carpet. The body hits with a soft thud, Golden Monarch’s head lolls to the side as the last of his life slips from him into the carpet below, and perhaps leaking into the floor below.

Now, he'd have to figure out where Brunnenkopf is himself. Which should be no problem, of course. A being of BlackHat's demeanor could easily pull information from lesser creatures. Be it they didn't die before he extracted what he needed.

* * *

After the short meal Flug was lead back upstairs and into a bathroom. Those faded pink eyes bore into his like an animal to its prey. Flug is backed against the sink counter.

The bathroom door is pushed closed with Tšernobog’s heel as the demon picks Flug up from under his knees and sets him down on the counter. The marble is cold, even through the fabric of his pants. He’s pushed back, a candlestick holder digs into his back. 

“It would be a shame to wash off my scent now that it’s finally making itself present, but we’ll have plenty of time to cover you in my scent.” Tšernobog says as he begins to undo the buttons at the top of Flug’s shirt. 

“What do you mean?” He asks as a sharp pang of fear suddenly hits him. Tšernobog, however, doesn’t seem disturbed. Infact, he appears quite jolly as he continues undoing the buttons of Flug’s shirt. 

“The blood moon is not far off, my dear. That is prime time for me to lay my permanent mark on you.” He says and untucks Flug’s shirt to finish the buttons. 

“What-” Flug begin but jolts in surprise as Tšernobog pulls his shirt off from him and tosses it haphazardly to the floor. 

“What does that mean?” He finished for him, setting his hands beside Flug’s hips. “Why, it means you’ll be mine. Permanently. I’ll be consuming a part of your soul, tying your soul and psychical being to me for as long as you remain living.” He says.

The idea of remaining with this man for the rest of his life terrified him. Beyond anything either BlackHat or Dementia had presented him with before. Beyond the plane crash.

“What are you doing to do to mark me?” He asks, a hand slowly and carefully reaching behind himself for the candlestick holder. His plan probably wouldn’t work, but he was desperate now. He _needed_ to get out. _Now_.

“Oh, there are many ways.” He says. “I do enjoy the the old faithful neck bite. Though some consider my method rather barbaric, it’s quite easy to make obvious to other demons someone has been claimed.”

“Neck bite?” He asks meekly, curling his fingers around the candlestick. Tšernobog makes a purring like noise and leans closer, putting a hand around his throat. 

“Yes. I make sure to puncture both the arteries. And if the marking begins quickly enough you wont bleed too much.” He says with a vicious grin and pulls his hand away. Appearing finished with this conversation he moves as if to undo the button of Flug’s trousers. 

It’s as if Flug’s mind switches to autopilot; he pulls the candlestick holder from behind him, sending the candlesticks across the room, and bashes it against Tšernobog temple. The demon stumbles back, hand going up to hold his head. 

The human disguises peels back slightly. His pink eyes shift to thin slits on top of a black background, and thing, red claws push from his fingertips. 

Despite Flug’s surprise at the small change in appearance, he doesn’t allow the demon much time to recover and jumps down from the counter. He continues to beat the candlestick holder onto his head even when he breaks skin and black blood seeps from Tšernobog’s head and hits the white walls. 

By now Tšernobog’s form has shifted into an almost bear like creature. Deep crimson fur, large paws, small pink eyes, and teeth that protruded from his snarling lips. He was curled against the wall like a defensive cat. 

A large paw swipes out and takes out Flug’s legs from under him. He hits the ground with a heavy thud. Tšernobog is quickly hovering over him, snarling and growling in his face. 

With one quick movement he goes to bite at Flug’s throat, but the human manages to slam the wide base of the candlestick holder into his eye. This makes the beast pull back.

He scrambles out from under him and runs from the bathroom. The velvet carpet that covers the grand staircase nearly slips out from under him, nearly sends him tumbling down the stairs. 

A vicious roar sounds through the silent manor, the large beast bends the doorway of the bathroom to get out. Its movements are surprisingly swift for such a large monster. 

Its claws tear up the carpets as it runs. As the paws hit the floor the ground shakes. Before Flug knows it, he’s pinned against the front door. One claw narrowly missed his head, the other sinks into his stomach. 

Tšernobog snarls something vaguely English. Flug knows he wouldn’t hesitate to kill him now. If he would break his wrist for falling for a trick, he’s maul him for something like attacking him. 

His maw opens up to snap at him, most likely to deliver the killing blow, or at one to make him suffer. As he rears back he suddenly rawrs again and pulls back to look behind himself. 

It’ the young maid girl, bloody kitchen knife in hand. It drips thick like tar from the blade. Her eyes are wide and terrified, an expression that Flug very much shares.

She tosses a steak knife to the floor before scurrying backwards as Tšernobog moves to attack her. It’s small but sharp, and if he’s careful, and the two work together, they could probably debilitate him. 

The rug is kicked out as Tšernobog’s hind paw catches on it, and it sends the knife sliding across the room. Flug makes a run for it and snatches it up as the demon traps the maid in a corner. 

He runs and brings the knife down as hard as he can and pulls it down. As Tšernobog is about to turn around to swipe at Flug, she reaches up and plunges the knife into a washed-out eye. 

Tšernobog jerks back, landing on his side. A large paw tries to pry the knife from his eye. The maid steps around his body and takes the steak knife from Flug’s hand and jams it into his other eye. 

There’s a thunderous roar as the demon backs itself into a corner, trying the maneuver in a way to pull the knife from its sockets.

“We must move. I know bar, I will take you.” She says and grabs his wrist. As she drags him towards the front doors she grabs a heavy Frock coat and drapes it over his shoulders. “Long walk.”

The mansion is surrounded by a dense forest. Bird song is loud and clear outside. The area is unfamiliar to Flug, who for most of life in Germany has only lived in the large cities.

“Where… are we?” He asks and manages to shake the maid’s hand away long enough to slip his arms through the sleeves to the coat and button it up. 

“A few meters from Brunnenkopf.” She says and grabs his wrist again. 

“Brunnenkopf?! That’s kilometers from the nearest town or hotel!” He says. She doesn’t seem deterred by this and continues down the long driveway towards a thin dirt road.

For the first day the two walked along the roads, the maid- who was named Cäcilie- would pull them into ditches or behind shrubberies and trees when a car would pass. It would take a few minutes to calm her before they continued. 

“Stop.” Cäcilie says and yanks on his sleeve. He checks for cars but there wasn’t any to be seen. Still, she seemed anxious again and wouldn’t continue to walk. “Getting dark, rest.” She says.

“Oh, well. Let’s get away from the road then.” He says. Truthfully, he would have much preferred to walk through the night. His feet were bloody and raw from walking barefoot for hours and his stomach hurt with every movement, but his mind was buzzing like a beehive was in it. Freedom for the both of them was so close now, and every meter they trudged away from the manor was another Tšernobog would have to blindy make to catch them.

“Check your-” She pauses for the word but Flug waves her off and makes his way into the trees that line both sides of the road. 

Closeby is a tree with its roots protruding from the ground, forming somewhat of a semi circle they could probably take refuge in. The forest was just as noisy as it was when they left midday. Now that the sun was dipping lower into the sky, it seemed the forest came alive. 

The birdsong had been traded for loud insects and the quick movements of nocturnal mammals and birds. Hopefully nothing too curious would bother them. 

It’s a struggle for him to sit. The three puncture wounds in his stomach felt as though they were on fire as he lowered himself to the ground with the help of Cäcilie.

“Why did you help me?” He asks as she sits down beside him. Her brows furrow as she undoes the laces of her heels. 

“The master would kill you.” She says as she tugs off the heels and tosses them beside her. “Can’t take it anymore.”

Flug nods in sympathy and tries to make himself comfortable against the tree, mindful of his stomach. He liked to believe if Flug witnessed BlackHat seconds away from mauling one of his creations he’d attack. Though if that was his humanity or parental protectiveness of them was beyond him.

“What do you have home for you?” Cäcilie asks after a long moment of silence. Caught off guard he hums and blinks before answering.

“I have a,” What was the right word to describe 5.0.5? Pet? Child? Creation? “I have someone I would really like to get back to. Plus I can’t wait for a good meal again.” Despite that small dinner not too long ago, Flug was already feeling the aches and pains of hunger again.

Cäcilie nods in understanding. Her voice is soft and nearly carried away in the soft breeze. “I have a little brother, Lukas. I want to find him. When master took  me we were separated.” She says. 

“Do you know where to start looking?” He asks. The thought of the auctions separating families hadn’t occurred to him. Were the twins separated?

“Italy.” She says. 

Flug gives a small hum in response and awkwardly avoids her gaze. The rest of the night is spent in relative silence. Neither get much sleep on the dirt and tree roots but it’s nice to rest their weary heads and sore feet. 

At the crack of dawn, just as the sun begins its push up into the morning sky, the two rise once more. This time noticeably dirty and looking more like escaped prisoners from the Edwardian era. 

This time, Cäcilie won't take any form of a dismissal for an answer and manages to get the Frock coat unbuttoned enough to get a good look at his stomach. The blood around it had dried and hardened overnight. The puncture wounds themselves didn’t look infected quite yet, but both of them knew they had to get him help soon.

“Hurry,” Cäcilie urges and helps him to his feet. Flug grunts as he stands and lazily does up the buttons of his coat. 

The two resume their venture to the aforementioned bar. It takes the two most of the second day to reach it. By that time Flug is barely remaining upright and struggles to walk. His tongue feels like sandpaper in his mouth and his stomach feels as though it’s beginning to digest itself. 

Cäcilie was feeling the pains of running away and starvation as she too had slowed down and would pause to clutch at her stomach. Both would soothe and encourage each other when they would slow. They could see the bar by now, it was small in the distance but the large neon lights were able to be seen from far off.

As the two stumbled towards the front entrance a tipsy man steps out. His eyes immediately catch on the two filthy humans. For a moment Cäcilie grabs onto Flug's thin arm asif the man is Tšernobog in disguise.

The man's eyes rack down both their muddy garments and he holds the glass door open for them dumbly.  Flug leads Cäcilie cautiously. The atmosphere is calm and hospital. 

Behind the bar is a tall, broad man with a braided red beard and bushy eyebrows. As the two shuffle in he leans his elbows onto the counter and finishes a conversation with another patron. He calls the two over in German and Cäcilie's grip tightens on Flug's arm.

"You two look like shit." He says in German. Flug gives an exhausted chuckle and hops up onto a bar stool. 

"Is it that obvious?" He replies and goes to rest his forehead on the counter when the wounds on his stomach burn and he jolts back up right. “Do you have a restroom?” He asks.

“Both of you follow me.” He says and steps out from behind the bar. He leads the two to a  short hall with two doors on either side. One with a sign of a man and the other a female hanging from the handle.

“Come to the bar when you’re finished. We have some crackers for the drunkards you two can have. 

Flug made sure Cäcilie got into the woman’s bathroom fine before turning and entering the men’s. The tiles on the ground and walls were white and had framed pictures of Brunnenkopf on them. 

Flug checks that no one else is in any of the stalls before heading to a sink and looking at himself. His hair was even worse than usual, his sink pale and dirty. He turns the warm water on and lets it run over his hands for a moment before splashing his face and attempting to run his fingers through his curls to try and dispel some of the tangles.

Next he removes the Frock coat and cleans the skin around his puncture wounds with wet hands. It takes a bit of cautious scrubbing to get all the dried blood off but he managed after a minute and uses the paper towels as bandage stand-ins for the moment. 

After carefully shrugging his coat back on he exits the bathroom and finds Cäcilie at the bar, guzzling down a large glass of water. He takes a seat next to her and is presented with an equally large glass of tap water. 

Before the auction such a thing would not have felt like he was looking at a glass full of diamonds or liquid gold. The bartender chuckles in astonishment at how fast the both of them finish their glasses.

He refills their drinks and hands over the unopened package of salted crackers. Neither of them really hesitated to tear into them either. They were light and with the both of them eating they wouldn’t upset their neglected stomachs.

Once they finish their crackers Flug curses in English and quickly looks up to the bartender. He’s drying off a glass from a recently departed patron and seems to notice Flug’s gaze.

“Sir,” Flug calls to him in German. “I- Could I borrow a phone?” He asks. 

“Here you go.” He says and picks a landline from the wall and hands it to the man. It takes a moment for Flug to remember the number but when he does his crosses his fingers that he’ll pick up.

* * *

BlackHat had disguised himself as a human and had seated himself on a bus soon after departing from Golden Monarch’s corpse. The trip to anywhere close to Brunnenkopf would take nearly two days. 

He recieves the call after sitting still for most of the day. It’s an unknown number and BlackHat nearly allows it to go to voicemail before answering.

“Yes?” He growls into the device. There’s a moment of silence from the other line. Just as BlackHat is about to flip his phone closed he hears a soft sigh.

“Jefecito?” Flug asks quietly. His voice stuns BlackHat into silence for a moment. In the background there is boisterous laughter and men speaking. Where was he?

“Doctor?” He says slowly. Flug’ familiar and uneasy laughter sounds from the other side. “Doctor, where are you?”

“Jefe, there’s a small bar on the road to Brunnenkopf- a big mountain-” Flug starts but cuts himself off and mutters something in German to someone else. “To the south. It’s called Der abwesende Kollegen. It’s hard to miss.”

“Don't you dare move, Flug Slys.” He warns before flipping the phone closed and hanging up. 

BlackHat stands from his bus seat and makes his way to the front of the bus. As he walks his skin peels from his skin and his eyes roll back into his head as he transforms back into his usual form. He fixes his monocle and turns his forked tongue over his teeth before stopping beside the bus driver. 

“Be a charm and stop at Der abwesende Kollegen.” He says and pats the man’s shoulder. The driver sends BlackHat a scowl from the corner of his eyes. The demon morphs his face into an amalgamation of twisting teeth and long, slimy tongues. A low, vicious growl escapes from an unseen mouth.

The bus driver presses himself away from the monster and nods frantically. Within a second BlackHat has returned to normal and turns back around to sit back down. The few other passengers of the vehicle have all taken refuge in the back of the bus, away from the eldritch being.

Now nothing could keep him from reaching his scientist. 


	7. Kämpfen

As Flug waited for BlackHat to arrive he stayed with Cäcilie fighting off exhaustion. She told him stories from her childhood and Flug would occasionally explain to her one of his past inventions. Cäcilie would listen rather intently and ask questions to ensure she understood whatever he was rambling on about.

By the time a bus pulled into the parking lot the sun had dipped low enough into the sky so that it sent waves of oranges and yellows across a cloudy sky. Out from the vehicle stepped a being that held an air of superiority and powerfulness. Top hat tilted back in a way that shielded his eye from the late afternoon sun rays.

As he entered the little bar a momentary hush rippled through the inhabitants when the door slams against the wall. The noise of the impact has the two escapees jumping in their seats. The calm ambiance shattering under the gaze of a being more powerful than any other in the room.

He garners two different reactions from the runaways. Cäcilie curls up in a manor to use Flug as a shield, to her men in suits meant danger. To Flug that monocle meant freedom. He leapt from his seat and nearly tumbled back to the ground when dizziness hits him like a wave. 

The demon pays him no mind at first and looks around the bar that stared back at him. His lips turned down into a snarl when he couldn’t locate a paper bag amongst them. Jus as he was about to turn around and leave, a hand grabbed at his elbow and a thin man appeared before him.

He looked absolutely dreadful. His clothes were covered in dried blood and mud. Hazel eyes behind cracked goggles appear glassy and as if he has never slept. On top of his atrociously dirty appearance, scars deformed the most of the left side of his face, leaving a sandpaper or gravel like texture.

BlackHat pulls his arm back and scoffs rather loudly. Who did he think he was? No one was allowed to touch him. He appeared surprised at his action and blinks dumbly at him.

“Move, I came for something and will not be distracted by the likes of you.” He snaps. The man stares at him for a moment before breaking into soft laughter. Another snarl curls on his lips as the man goes pink in the face. BlackHat almost moves to grab at his throat when he speaks.

“Sir! It’s me.” He says through small gasps for air. It takes a moment for the information to settle.  _ That’s _ what Flug looked like?  _ That _ was the big secret that could never be revealed? It was nearly anticlimactic if it weren’t for the marred half of his face. 

“Doctor?” He asks, a subtle softness to his tone. Behind Flug a woman stands and nervously approaches. All vulnerability immediately drops from his face as he looks over to her. She shrinks back from the intensity of his gaze but doesn’t back down.

Her voice is soft and tired as she speaks to Flug. BlackHat doesn’t understand but from her anxiously clasped hands and tone she’s scared. Rightfully so if she had any intentions of stopping him from taking Flug from this damned country.

Flug hesitates a moment, earlier excitement turning to hesitant confusion and worry. He responds to her quietly, a fragile looking hand coming up to rest on her forearm. 

BlackHat’s gaze is cold as he looks down at the female. She keeps her eyes focused on the other human despite being well aware of the condescending look she was receiving. As Flug finishes what he was saying a brief look of panic passes over her and she goes to grab at Flug’s shoulder to get his attention when a cane jams down on her toes. She lets out a quiet squeal of pain as Flug looks back to BlackHat.

“Sir- I’m so exhausted.” He chuckles and cups his hands over his eyes. “Can we please just get back to the hotel?” 

BlackHat goes to respond when a rumble shakes the ground. Both humans have a look of terror pass over them and both their heads snap towards the entrance. 

“Tšernobog!” The girl yells and grabs at Flug’s arm. BlackHat pries her fingers off him and wraps a gloved hand carefully around Flug’s thin wrist.

“Nonsense.” He says and turns towards the front entrance. “Come now, Doctor. We’re leaving.” As he begins to walk Flug digs his heels down, preventing either from moving very much. 

“Sir,” Flug says and tugs on BlackHat’s hand. The demon stops and turns towards him who motions towards the woman stood beside him. “We need to get her somewhere too. She helped me escape.” 

“Her?” BlackHat scoffs at the notion. She would only slow down their trip back to America and there was no way she would come. “Don’t joke with me, Doctor. We’re going home.” 

With that he turns back towards the front door and pulls Flug along. He digs his heels into the ground again but this time BlackHat doesn’t let that deter him. They get outside when another rumble shakes the ground. 

“Sir!” Flug protests and attempts to peel back his claw. “We can’t leave her!” 

BlackHat turns back towards Flug with a scowl. He steps close to his scientist and looks him in the eyes. Flug doesn’t shrink back as he might have back at the manor. Instead he stares up at him anxiously. 

“Doctor, I advise you cooperate at this very moment. I have gone through more Germany than I ever wanted to looking for you.” He says in a low voice, tone threatening. Tears sprout in the human’s eyes but he doesn’t back down.

“I’m appreciative of that, Jefe, but I can’t leave her. She saved my life. Without  _ her _ you coming here would have been for nothing. I’m sick and tired of-” Flug stops as a large shadow covers the two briefly before three huge claws tear through his boss.

The demon falls to the ground with two large gashes through him, nearly separating him into three separate chunks. Flug scrambles back and looks up at what had so gravely injured a being like BlackHat.

It had the appearance of a bear and a dog combined. Its snout was pushed towards its face in a manner that made it appear for it to be hard to breathe. Its skin was a dark brown that was covered in small patches of blonde fur that were few and far between. The beast stood on four large paws that were the size of the average truck. On each paw was tree long, sharp claws that were as long as Flug was tall.

The beast’s eyes appear as though they were gouged out, blood matts the fur underneath its empty sockets. The loss of its eyes left it to guide itself with its sense of smell, which had led it to the bar in search of two specific humans. 

As he realizes the monster was blind he feels a hard tug on his arm. Cäcilie moves Flug away from the crumpled body of his boss and quickly guides him towards the bus. 

“Move!” She yells. Flug returns to his senses and tries to pull his arm away. BlackHat is still down. Why?! He’s  _ never _ been down before! Is he dead?!  _ Can _ he die?!

“Jefe!” He calls to the demon and tries to pull away from the woman again but his stomach wounds nearly send him to the ground. “ _ Jefecito _ !”

“Leave him! _ ” _ Cäcilie yells and helps him stand properly. “Come on!” She pulls him in the direction of the bus again. The driver was helping the patrons of the bar onto the vehicle and waved to the pair of them frantically. 

As the two get in the vehicle BlackHat stands, the three chunks of him fuse together and morph into a form Flug has never seen him take before. 

It appeared to be made entirely of bone and exposed muscle. The body was the size of the bar and took a shape like a cat with irregularly long limbs. Along its back it had tall bones jutting from under bloody muscle that ran all the way down to a lizard like tail. Its head was round and came to a sort of point. 

There was three different mouths filled with razor sharp teeth that drooled lava, one that came from underneath the first, and another that hung from the neck and remained open at all times. Many bright red eyes were scattered all across the head and didn’t appear to blink any.

The bus doors close as the monster grabbed Tšernobog by the back with one mouth and threw him up before slamming him down on the ground. Tšernobog howls in pain and manages to twist around and get a good swipe at a few of BlackHat’s eyes. 

He lets go and shakes his head. A few of his eyes seem to lock onto the bus as it begins to back out of the parking lot but he doesn’t make a move to do anything about it.

“Stop!” Flug yells and rushes to the two doors and attempts to pry them open. Cäcilie grabs him around the waist and pulls him away from the doors. “Let go!” He screams and hits at her hands.  

“No _ , _ ” Cäcilie grabs him and pushes him back down onto the seat. “You’re going to die!” 

“Jefe is in trouble! I can’t leave him!” He says and goes to shove her away with his elbow when she pushes him down harshly into a seat.

“Demons only hurt the people around themselves! Those two are going to kill each other, both of us will finally be free! There will be no one to answer to, no one to flinch away from, no one! Why do you want to go back to that?!” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she yells in German. Her grip is firm and unyielding and gives him no room to move away.

“I _ - _ ” He goes to protest when the whole bus shakes. By now both monsters have commenced in a full brawl. Each aiming for each other’s throats. Currently, Tšernobog had managed to get a few good swipes with his hind paws at BlackHat’s stomach as the larger beast roars, lava dripping from his maws. BlackHat bites at him and manages to rip out a chunk of Tšernobog’s chest. Tšernobog gives a thunderous roar and digs his claws into the lowest of BlackHat’s jaws, nearly tearing it off.

“ _ Drive! _ ” She yells at the driver. He quickly backs out of the parking lot, causing most of the passengers to lurch forward as the buss suddenly moved. Tšernobog takes notice and moves to follow the bus. BlackHat responds to this by leaping on to his back and digs two sets of teeth and his claws into him. 

As the bus speeds away from the bar and back towards civilization two ground shaking roars follow as the demons continue to fight, ripping at exposed skin and fur, mutilating and maiming each other. 

Flug stares out the window as his boss’ massive form disappears in the distance behind the trees. The familiar feeling of panic and hopeless dread presents itself to him again. It was the same feeling he had while chained to Golden Monarch’s bed, in the auction, and running from Tšernobog.

He had been so close. Flug had literally touched him. One moment he could have been home, in his bed or with 5.0.5 and the next he’s being taken away again. 

“Flug,” Cäcilie says and tries to pull him away from the window. He spins around and smacks her hand away. Surprised by this she draws her stinging hand back  and steps away. 

“ _ Don’t touch me _ !” He snaps and turns away from her. A moment later she lowers herself into the seat next to him. 

“Flug, you have to understand,” She says, tone one someone would use when speaking to a scared child. Flug glares at her from the corner of his eye. “Demons only mean to use us. I mean- what did ‘Jefe’ have you do back home?” Flug nearly doesn’t want to answer the question. He knew it wouldn't be good for his argument.

“Exactly. They use us and when we shrivel up and die they toss us out only to grab a new slave.” She says and sets a hand on his shoulder. This time he doesn’t knock her hand away. 

He considers her words carefully, he had always somewhat enjoyed what he did. Sure, the insanely short deadlines and sometimes the complexity of the projects would drive him up the wall and into tears. But science was all he wanted to do with his life, and that is what he did. 

Yes, BlackHat could be an ass and threatened him more than perhaps an employer should. But 5.0.5 and Dementia served as good distractions from his boss’ behavior whenever he got too bad. 

There had been many times that he had thought he deserves a life not rife with fear and exhaustion, one where he didn’t end up going hungry most nights, or days without even a nap. But he also thought he deserved to live a life without half his face melted off. Despite all the times he wished for his old face or a different life, he wouldn’t change anything. He wouldn’t risk losing all of what he made for himself up to that point. 

“I know of a place where you can start a new life. They take in people like us, people who’s masters have mistreated them and have escaped.” Cäcilie says and leans closer. “They’ll give you a home far from here, from Tšernobog, from Jefe.”

“I want to go back to America.” He says in protest. He wasn’t going to leave his creations. If he would be forced to flee from BlackHat, he would take them with him. They were the closest thing he had to family.

“ _ Why _ ? You can go anywhere." She asks incredulously. Flug meets her confused look with one of slight annoyance. 

“Yes, anywhere includes America.” He says with a slight glare. Cäcilie backs down and lets Flug watch the trees zip by. She sinks into the stiff bus seat and picks at the edge of her skirt.

As the bus speeds down the long roads, where the trees reach over the road and wildlife anxiously skitter about the sides, the two monsters’ roars didn’t seem to decrease in volume. They could hear them through the closed windows as if they were still stood beside them. 

It’s only when the bus reaches the edge of a small town they seem to grow quieter. Many people are stood outside with phones in hand to record the thunderous noises. The bus pulls to a stop and immediately most of the bar patrons rush out and yell about what they had seen. Warning about demons, the end of the world, and monsters hellbent on destroying themselves and humans. 

Flug and Cäcilie slip out after everyone else. They keep their heads down and quickly make their way down the street until Cäcilie suddenly stops. Flug turns and looks at her, still wanting to see if BlackHat was alright. 

“Here.” She says and pulls him into a small book store. Inside was void of anyone, presumably all outside. She looks around the rows of bookshelves before leaning over the counter as if looking for something.

“What are you doing? If the owner sees you-” Flug hisses and looks back to the entrance. If they got them arrested for stealing the moment they got into town he was going to strangle her. 

The ground shakes for a moment followed by a feral cat like yowl from far off. The small glass of pens and phone on the counter shakes and a few books slip off a seat cushion.

“They have a symbol- It tells you it’s safe to hide there. I can’t-” She stops looking around frantically when the bell chimes on the entrance. In walks a tall man with golden brown skin. His hair was tied into many long dreads that was pulled back into a large bun at the back of his head. One chocolate eye stares at them quizzically, the other was closed, a gruesome scar ran from just above a thick eyebrow over his missing one, across the bridge of his nose down to his collarbone. 

“Do you seek freedom?” He asks. Flug doesn’t trust the man, not for his appearance but the ease of which he spoke. For some reason it put him off. 

“Please.” Cäcilie responds and grabs onto Flug’s wrist as if he might run away. Which wasn’t out of the realm of possibilities at that point. 

“Follow me.” He says and makes his way past the two behind the counter. Pulling a tall bookcase forward he reveals a hidden door. Behind it is a dimly lit staircase leading downward. Flug hesitates at the sight but Cäcilie pulls him along quickly.

The man leads them through another door into a room that looks like a small apartment. In one corner was a small kitchen with a tiny round table that had three seats around it. There was a TV on the other side, it was one of those old clunky ones with a tiny screen. Sat on a pink rug in front of it was one person tinkering with something.

Another person that had been stirring something in a pot in the kitchen takes notice of the two of them and quickly approaches. They’re shorter than even Cäcilie and have long auburn hair pulled into a loose braid at the side of their head. Light brown skin is covered in patched of pale white across their whole body.

“Theophilus, who is this?” They ask, accent Pakistani. They look between the two of them, their eyes like black orbs with thin green webs pulled over them. Theophilus smiles at them and makes his way further into the small apartment. Cäcilie follows behind him, still pulling Flug along. 

“You two,” Theophilus begins, gaining the other's attention. “These two seek our help. Please, introduce yourselves.”

“I’m Tumay.” The first person says and holds a hand out awkwardly close to Flug’s chest. He takes their hand and shakes it. 

“Flug Slys.” He says as Tumay gives his hand two jerky shakes. “That’s Cäcilie.” He says and motions to the woman beside him. 

The third person stands to greet them, a metal leg clicks as it straightens out. She’s just a bit taller than Flug, paler too, but has a look about her that says she’s been through Hell and not willing to take anymore shit. Her almond shaped eyes practically stare holes into the two of them, scrutinizing them thoroughly. She holds her hand out stiffly and Cäcilie takes it nervously. 

“You may call me Maeno Chisato.” She says, German sounding clunky on her tongue. Maeno turns her attention to Flug, frown tipping further on her lips. “Did your demon do that to you?” She asks and ghosts her fingers over her own face.

Flug brings a hand up and cringes slightly. He shakes his head and rubs at his scarred cheek.

“No. This is before I met him.” He says. Theophilus opens his mouth to say something when Cäcilie suddenly stands up straighter.

“Can you guys take care of injuries?” She asks and turns towards Theophilus. 

“We can.” He says and looks Cäcilie over for any apparent wounds. “Where are you hurt, Ma’am? What’s the severity?” He asks. Cäcilie suddenly goes pink in the face and shakes her head and tugs at the front of Flug’s frock coat.

“Oh no, him! My Master attacked him.” She clumsily undoes the buttons to reveal the three claw marks. Theophilus steps closer to get a better look at it, a hand moving the front of the coat out of the way. 

“Wait-” Maeno says. “Your Masters are separate?” She asks. 

“Yes.” Flug responds as Theophilus begins to run his fingers along the edges of his wounds, making him hiss in pain as they strays too close to the sensitive skin bordering them. “Mine is from Spain but resides in America. Her’s is from up near Brunnenkopf.” 

“Is that’s your guys’ on the news?” Maeno asks and motions towards the TV. It was tuned to the news, where there seemed to be a helicopter view of the two monsters. The entire bar was destroyed by now, along with some of the road and trees. 

Tšernobog was covered in black blood, his chest heaving as he managed to escape from under one of BlackHat’s claws and try to limp away. BlackHat allows him to get out of the parking lot before pouncing on his back and digging his claws in both sides of the lesser demon. 

He drags Tšernobog back into the rubble of the bar and tears a large chunk from his side with one mouth. Underneath him Tšernobog gives a weak cry, not appearing to have the energy to try and fight back anymore. How was the news allowed to broadcast this?

“Yes.” Cäcilie answers when she notices Flug won’t. His eyes wouldn’t focus on anything else other than the TV. 

BlackHat releases him and Tšernobog attempts to crawl away. One of his hind legs is lame and he can’t support his weight anymore. Claws dig into the earth as he slides across it, towards the road. 

BlackHat walks beside him, tail lashing behind his gargantuan form. After a moment of watching him try to escape and failing he sets a paw down on Tšernobog’s back and puts his main jaw around his throat. The lesser demon strangles out a noise that sounds like the gates of Hell opening before BlackHat rips his head from his body.

The camera remains focused on BlackHat for a few moments, Tšernobog’s head hanging from his maw like a trophy, before it switches back to two people sat behind a counter. They give the camera a disbelieving and terrified look. An uneasy chuckle passes through the one on the left as they clack papers against the counter. 

“Fuck!” Flug yells suddenly. Theophilus was attempting the clean his stomach with a cloth soaked in warm water. He grabs the man’s arm to stop him.

“Sorry.” He says ands stands up from his crouched position in front of Flug. “We need to move you to the bathroom to flush them.” He says.

“Flush them? Jesus- yeah, okay.” He says, still processing what he’d seen on TV. Could BlackHat be that cruel to him? Would he think Cäcilie taking him away as him running away? Was that a show of what is in store for him?

Theophilus guides him into a small bathroom and helps him take off his coat. He suggests Flug sit in the tub and he hesitantly does. The man kneels down and rummages through the cabinet beneath the sink.

He pulls out a thick syringe without the needle. The sight has Flug jolting up in surprise, irritating his wounds.

“Ow- What the fuck is that?!” He asks as Theophilus plugs the sink and lets the water build up. 

“Having some force behind the water helps remove contaminants faster. It won’t hurt too much.” He says and fills the syringe with water. “I can give you a cloth to bite down on.”

“I would like that.” He mutters and leans back in the tub. Theophilus fetches a small hand towel from the kitchen and hands it to Flug before kneeling beside him outside the tub. 

He holds the syringe in front of one wound and pushes down the plunger, sending water into the smallest gash. Flug stiffens and stuffs the cloth into his mouth to keep from yelling out another curse. 

Theophilus looks over it before standing up and refilling the syringe. He kneels back down and lines it up wit the middle gash.

"You're very lucky, it doesn't appear infected or to have punctured any internal organs." He says. Flug had been about to make a comment about how all organs of his should remain internal when Theophilus presses the plungers down.

"Which one was your Master?" He asks as he stands again. Flug takes the rag from his mouth, it left it feeling scratchy and dry.

"The one alive." He says. Earlier he may have been smug about BlackHat's victory. Now he was unnerved by it.

"Ah. He put on quite the display of superiority. Playing with the other like that." He says. "Normally demons like that have a much firmer grip on their slaves, how'd you end up with someone else's Master?"

"I'm not his slave." Flug protests as Theophilus sits back down. He gives him a curious look. "He hired me. I'm not a slave." He insists.

Theophilus presses down on the plunger without warning. Flug hisses out a string of curses in Spanish and squeezes down on the rag.

"Sorry." He says and sets the syringe down on the rim of the tub. "We'll apply antibiotic cream and wrap it up." 

With Theophilus' help Flug carefully stands from the tub, pants and stomach soaked. The earlier exhaustion hits him again and he holds onto the taller man's arm to help keep him up right. 

 "My, you're tiny!" Tumay comments as Flug carefully lowers himself into one of the chairs around the dining table.

The other two look over at him as Tumay speaks. Flug had already been quite slim before coming to Germany. And with thanks to not eating the whole time he was in the country (Save for the one dinner and an apple) he'd managed to beat his old record of days gone without eating in the manor.

"You can ogle at his ribs later, Tumay." Maeno says and yanks them down by the front of their shirt to sit on the ground. They go down easily enough and lightly taps Maeno on the back of her head before turning their attention to the TV.

"They lost your Master." Cäcilie says to Flug. She had changed by now. Instead of her maid's dress she was now in jeans and a hoodie with a band's logo across the back of it. "Tšernobog's' body dissolved by the time the police arrived." She says.

"Dissolved?" Flug repeats. 

"When demon's corporal form is destroyed they return to Hell." Theophilus says as he pulls up a seat next to Flug. In his hand in a small tube of antibiotics and a roll of bandages. "They must dissolve into the ground to do so." He says.

As he unscrews the cap and squeezes some out onto the tip of his finger, Flug braces himself for the application. Theophilus' fingers are rather cold as he carefully applies the cream to the edges of his wounds. 

"Have…" Flug hesitates, the right words eluding him. Theophilus glances up at him curiously as he continues to work. "Nevermind." He sighs.

Tšernobog's talk of marking was still lingering in his mind. Golden Monarch had talked of scent marking before the auction. About how BlackHat has scent marked him. Which made him wonder why he hadn't  _ mark _ marked him. 

If marking would make him the property of whoever marked him, what had stopped BlackHat? One would think a demon so possessive and controlling would have made any sort of move to stop Flug from running away or being taken. Something more than a subtle hint like a scent mark was. 

Theophilus wraps the bandages around his stomach, ensuring they have enough slack so it wouldn't squeeze or make the wounds any worst. Flug watches as he stands to put everything away, returning with a bundle of clothes in hand.

"Here, you can change in the bathroom." He says and hands him the clothes. Flug carefully stands and takes them. Just as he's about to go and change he feels a hand on his shoulder. He turns back towards Theophilus.

"Mr. Slys, just because you were hired, doesn't mean you weren't mistreated." He says. Flug nearly goes to defend his boss again when he catches himself. Instead, he just gives him a small nod before going to switch clothes. 

The clothes he was given was loose jeans and a light blue button up. In the middle of the bundle was a silver necklace with a small cross hanging from it. 

He holds it for a moment, looking the object over. Simply holding it felt like he was betraying BlackHat. But why? If he was going to make himself move on from that point in his life, he really should stop worrying what he would feel.  _ If _ he could feel anything other than anger and condescension. 

Thinking,  _ I'm my own person now. I'm unemployed, free, and thinking for myself. BlackHat's disappeared off into the forest, probably back to America, why should I care what he'll think of my fashion choices? _ With that, he slips the necklace over his head and around his neck before tucking it under the collar of his shirt. 

It was cold and heavy against his skin. Ignoring the lingering feeling of treachery he steps out of the bathroom with his dirty and wet trousers in hand. 

"Flug," Cäcilie stands from the floor and quickly approaches him. She steps close and lowers her voice. "Look, you keep trying to defend Jefe, but you don't have to anymore." She says. Flug nods, tightening his hold on his trousers. 

"Yes, I know." He mumbles back. "It's just… It nearly feels wrong to run away." He says. 

"I get it. You've been with him for a long time, right?" She asks. Flug nods again. "See. He's gotten in your brain. We're safe now, running away was our best option." She's says with a reassuring smile.

"We have friends down near Switzerland, you two should be safer there." Theophilus says and hands Cäcilie a bowl of ramen. 

"Friends?" She questions before quickly taking a mouthful of noodles and vegetables. 

"Yes." He replies and heads back to the small kitchen and grabs another bowl. "There's small groups of us across most of Europe and Asia. We try to help humans that were trafficked." He says and fills the bowl with noodles before returning and handing it to Flug.

The steam clouds his goggles partially as he takes it and brings the rim to his lips to take a sip of the broth. 

"We want to move the two of you to lower the chance of his former Master finding him." Maeno says as she helps herself to the food. "We don't know if he'll come looking for you, but for your safety we think it's better to get you far away.

* * *

Deep grunts escape him as he prowls through the forest, following the faint scent of Flug Slys. Black blood sizzled on his jaws as it mixes with lava. 

The taste of the lesser demon's skin still lingers in his mouth. Energy buzzes through him after the kill. There had been no rational thought behind it. Just the pure need to inflict pain and watch a creature weaker than him suffer. 

This form consumed a lot of energy when sustained for long periods of time. But his mind was so alight with the indiscriminate need to maul and hunt he didn’t mind using some pent up energy. 

Catching another hint of Flug's scent, tainted with anger and panic, a low snarl rips through his towering, invisible form. The fumes human vehicles emitted made it hard to focus fully on Flug's scent. It stung slightly and muddied his mind, which only served to further fuel his unbridled rage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a text-to-speech to edit this time and it's simultaneously awkward and hilarious to hear the 'natural' voice not use any inflection and mispronounce words. But it's surprisingly helpful!


	8. Versteckt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains elements taken from the Christian religion.  
> As a nonreligious person I am unfamiliar with many aspects of Christianity and mean no disrespect if I misrepresent something.

The three had decided to move the two to a small town in Sweden close enough to the German border that the language would trickle over. There they could take refuge in a small church where a few of their friends resided and used the angelic energy to deter any determined Masters and to rid the humans of any subtler marks. 

Flug had told them of his predilection for wearing paper bags and as given one just big enough to fit. Maeno had given him a curious look and nearly mocking comment as he cut out hole for the goggles to fit through. It’s a little snug but Flug couldn’t complain.

“Do you wear it for the scars?” Tumay asks as they tend to the dishes. Flug had been dozing off on a small couch, however Tumay's voice wakes him again and he jolts up.

“My boss wasn’t too appreciative of humans, but primarily that, yes.” He says. Tumay hums and continues their task. The bag had been a sign of shame and self preservation in the first few years. Until it eventually evolved into a part of him. Something he added to himself without much thought anymore. But the sense of shame still lingered whenever it was removed.

Earlier, Cäcilie and Maeno had retired for the night in the bedroom. Theophilus was upstairs, closing up the store, putting books away and saying goodnight to the usual people that stopped by. 

The night was a serene one, where the stars were visible in the sky and the air held an appropriate chill to it. Every so often there would be a soft quiver in the ground, not unlike when a heavy object hits the ground from a few feet up. One would not notice them if they weren’t paying very close attention or knew what to be looking for.

“Alright then,” Theophilus sighs as he makes his way in. “It’s settled, they’ll be moving in the morning. Berith will meet us halfway.”

“ _Berith_?” Tumay responds, tone indicating something was the matter with having them pick the pair of them up. Not very comforting for Flug to hear. Especially since he was forced to put all of his trust in these people.

“Who’s Berith?” He asks, once again woken up by the two of them talking. Theophilus, who had been giving Tumay a tired look, pulled away from him quickly, uncurling an arm around their waist and stepping a good distance away.

“Berith’s one of us. He lives near the church and are willing to bring you there.” He says. Tumay wipes soapy hands off on their trousers and set the final plate on the drying rack. 

“He’s eccentric” They say, sending a disapproving look towards Theophilus. He gives them a reassuring smile and shoulder squeeze. 

“Berith is safe, Mr. Slys.” He reassures. It’s odd no longer being referred to as Doctor. He nearly goes to correct him, pride already too bruised to handle having his title stripped from him. But he doesn’t; he bites his tongue and settles back down on the couch.

“Would you like to move to a bed?” Tumay asks gently. “I believe one is left.” They say and look back to Theophilus for confirmation. He nods and carefully tucks a strand of hair back behind their ear.

“It would be much more comfortable.” He says. Flug shakes his head and groggily slips the goggles and paper bag from his head. 

“I feel much more safe here.” He mutters. 

“I’ll grab you a blanket then.” He says and makes his way into the shared bedroom. While he’s gone, Tumay bids Flug a simple goodnight before heading into the bedroom themself. 

Theophilus returns with a blanket and drapes it over Flug before returning to the bedroom silently. With a quiet sigh he sets his bag and goggles on the ground before flipping over and pressing his face into the back of the couch, bringing the blanket up to his shoulders. 

* * *

The next morning the Maeno and Tumay walk with the two runaways to the bus stop. They would be taking a bus to the small town, where Berith would meet them and bring them to the church. The bus ride would be another long one. One Flug wasn't particularly thrilled for. He'd been so cooped up so much that he couldn't wait to just sit idly outside for a few hours. 

Maeno still seems to find his bag an odd choice but appears to hold herself back from outwardly questioning it. At least until she got agonizingly bored on the bus. Which was appreciated.Theophilus had loaned Cäcilie a book for the first half of the drive. It was an old thing, thick too. He thinks he had told her it was a collection of Sherlock Holmes stories, and to treat it delicately. But he hadn't been paying the closest of attention. 

The bus pulls up, and the doors hum quietly as they open. They sit near the back and settle down for a long ride. Cäcilie leans against his shoulder and carefully opens her book. The pages have yellowed and some stick together in the corners. She appears content with it. Maeno spreads out across two seats. Her arms are crossed and eyes closed. She obviously plans to sleep through most of the trip. 

Tumay, however, wants to talk. If they're going to be on the same bus as the two, they may as well try to get to know them. They sit up on their legs and place their arms on the back of the seat. For a moment they watch Cäcilie read as Flug stares past her and at the passing scenery.

"Who wants to play a question game?" They ask. Flug looks up at them, a goggle lens catching in the morning light. 

"A game?" He asks. Cäcilie tucks her bookmark into her book.

"To get to know each other. Teenagers play it." They shift on their legs so they wouldn't fall asleep. The bag blocks them from seeing his expression, but Flug is quiet long enough for them to assume he's giving them a confused look.

"I haven't been a teenager in years." Cäcilie says as she leans back against the window to better look at Tumay. They laugh and nod.

"Still it's a long ride and Maeno will ignore us if you let her. So, who's first?" They ask. Twisting sideways in his seat he gives the two another look underneath his bag and goggles. Who plays twenty questions anymore?

"You, since you wanted to play." He says. Again, they laugh and nod. 

"Okay. I didn't actually have a question ready. Uh, what other languages can you speak?" The bus bounces suddenly as it runs over a pothole. 

"Italian." Cäcilie says. "I grew up in Italy."

"Oh, wow! I only know German."

"I can speak three." To him it's not an impressive fact. He's known two of them most of his life and learned Spanish while working for BlackHat throughout the years. 

"Three?!" Tumay sits up straighter. "How much room is in your head?"

"He has really good English." Cäcilie comments. 

"Where are you from?"

"Dingelstädt."

"Oh, the heart of Germany."

They three chat on for a while longer. Eventually, Maeno joins in when she had gotten bored enough. They joked around until the skies outside grew dark and the moon greeted the sky. 

Cäcilie was nose deep into her book, reading with what little light she could get. Maeno sprawled out and asleep, Tumay dozing off behind him, and Flug was wide awake. Still, this feeling of wrong invaded his mind. 

He’s like an old dog, he tells himself, hard to teach new tricks. He’s fallen into the groove of bending to BlackHat’s (and Dementia’s) ways. And _yeah_ , he missed that stupid fucking lab, and now, as he stared out at the passing landscape that he had missed, he just wants to go back. At least for a few minutes.

Maybe he wouldn’t miss it so much if he hadn’t been taken. Then maybe he would never have had the guts to break away on his own. Perhaps this was the only way. But wasn’t this supposed to feel great? Freeing? _Good_ , at least?

* * *

“Good morning, little lambs.” A hand shakes his shoulder and Flug jolts awake. In the isle is a woman with bright yellow eyes. She smiles at them and steps back. “Welcome to Bad Säckingen.” Flug sits up and nudges Cäcilie awake. She hums and sits up, book nearly tumbling from her fingers as she groggily sits up. The woman gives her a wide grin as she looks up to her. 

“Hurry now before the bus leaves.” She says before turning and making her way to the front of the vehicle. Flug stands and makes sure his bag is on properly. The two are still asleep. It’d be rude to leave without a thank you. Reaching out he grabs Tumay’s arm and gives a gentle shake. They barely even stir. After another, more firmer shake, they do begin to wake and look up blearily. 

“I just wanted to thank you.” He says. 

“Oh, you’re leaving.” They say as they blink awake. “I mean- Happily, Mr. Slys. Any time.” With a blinding smile they sit and reach over to Maeno’s outstretched mechanical leg and smacks it. She jumps awake, wild eyes landing on Tumay and turning into a glare. 

“Say goodbye.” They say. Behind him, Cäcilie stands on sore legs. 

“Yeah, yeah. Bye.” She mutters and pulls her knee towards her chest. Flug wishes he could have tinkered with it. Get rid of the creak in the knee and smooth out the movement for her.

Cäcilie grabs his sleeve and begins you guide him toward the front of the bus. Towards the woman. The beginning of his new life. Another pit of fear and hesitation settles in his stomach and a sour taste fills his mouth. He thanks the driver as he’s led off the vehicle. The air outside is warm and damp with morning dew, the sun fills the sky with a multitude of colors like a watercolor painting. Small buildings line the streets and people walk about, unknowing just exactly what is out there.

“The church isn’t far.” The woman says, her accent gives her away as an American. “You will be cleansed of your marks there.” 

“I have a question about that.” He says. A cyclist speeds past, it reminds Flug of when he was a kid, wobbling uncertainly on his first bike. 

“Hold onto those. We can only discuss them in the sanctity of the church." She says as they continue on. Cäcilie gives a gentle tug on his sleeve as they walk. She moves his head closer to his head to whisper.

"I thought a man was going to meet us." She says. Flug's brows furrow as he realizes the discrepancy. He gives her a confirming nod to show she wasn't wrong. Any misstep now could throw them in either direction. Now the two were walking on the edge of a blade. If they could continue to balance and make it to the other side they could begin their own new lives, but if they fell demons would devour them whole.

"Excuse me," Cäcilie speaks up as the sight of the church grows closer. The building is tall and a large cross sits atop the entrance. It's obvious the building is as old as the town, moss growing in the cracks in the stone and a tree grows sideways away from the building. "Where's Berith?" 

"Berith? Oh, he won't be present for the cleansing. You with be living with him for a short time." She says and grabs the large metal handles of the fronts doors. They're twice the size as her and creak loudly as they open.

"When will we meet him?" Flug asks. She looks back at them and gives him a comforting smile. 

"Do not fret, little lamb. Berith is a nice man. Now come, He will clean you of your marks and bless your soul so that you may join Him in freedom and happiness." She says and leads them inside. The two refugees kept close together as they walked down the aisle to the pulpit on a raised platform in the back of the building. She steps up and looks back at the two of them. 

"Please wait here, lambs." She says before disappearing through an old wooden door.

"What do you think?" Cäcilie asks and crosses her arms. "I don't trust her."

"I'm thinking demons shouldn't be able to enter here." He responds. In all honesty, he hasn't made up his mind on her. She isn't a demon due to the ease in which she entered the building, but that nickname was rubbing him the wrong way. 

Cäcilie stays silent and simply nods. They two stand for a while where the woman had left them. The stained glass windows depicting Jesus casts light of several colors across the rows of pews. 

Soon, she returns with two people. One is a soft looking man, he's a little chubby and has pale yellow curls framing his face. The other is draped in clergy robes that bulge awkwardly around his waist. 

"Welcome!" The older man greets warmly. He opens his arms as he steps down from the platform. "What are your names?"

"I'm Cäcilie. This is Flug." She says awkwardly. The man gives them a bright smile and clasps his hands together.

"I am Father Alexander." He says warmly. "It's such a pleasure you're here. The Lord has blessed us on this day so that we may clean you of demonic marks and rid your soul of lingering evil."

"Father, if you don't mind, I have a question." Flug says. It had been nagging in his mind since they had run from Tšernobog. 

"Of course, child. You may ask it as we prepare the cleansing." He says and places his hand on Flug's back to guide him up onto the platform and towards the door he had just come from. Cäcilie quick at their heels. 

"How is this supposed to work?" She asks as they enter the back of the church. 

Bookshelves line the walls and a desk sits against the far wall under a window. A large wooden tub sits in the center of the room. Many paintings are hung on the walls. Some with mother Mary, others with baby angels or Jesus. The woman and younger male enter behind them, closing the door. 

"Your skin will be cleaned from demonic marking with holy water. Freeing you from the bonds of evil and allowing you freedom." Father Alexander says. 

"You can see them?" She asks. Father Alexander shakes his head. 

"No, I am unable to see them. Ajah can however, and will perform the cleansing." He says and motions to the younger man. His yellow bangs fall in front of his eyes but Flug can feel his eyes on him.  

"But the pair of you must be starving. Come with me, you can rest upstairs and I will bring you food shortly. Esther, please help Ajah prepare." Father Alexander says before turning and guiding the two upstairs and into another cozy office.

There were similar bookcases along the walls, filled with religious literature. A tacky lime green couch with small yellow flowers pushed against one wall with sequined pillows on the cushions. Another desk sits underneath a painting of Mother Mary. A typewriter on one side and a thick pad of paper and a pen on the other.

"Please, make yourself at home. As for your question, my son, Ajah will be able to answer it for you." He says before turning and descending back down the stairs, closing the door behind himself. Flug stares up at the Virgin Mary as he takes a seat on the couch, It sinks a bit more than it should under his weight.

"Am I just paranoid or is something going to happen here?" She asks as she turns to him. In all honesty, he's had bad feelings since he put on the necklace.

"I'm probably not the best opinion to ask for that. I'm always on edge." He says. Before the convention it had been sleep deprivation the put the shadows at the edges of his eyes. Now it was lingering images of Golden Monarch and Tšernobog in the back of his mind. Cäcilie snorts at that and falls back onto the couch. She grunts as she hits the material and slowly sinks down. 

"God, this is old." She says and smacks a hand against the arm of the couch. A small cloud of dust rises from the impact. Flug chuckles as he watches the dust dissipate into the air. 

“Did your Master know you were human? If you always wore that.” She asks and motions to his bag and goggles. He shrugs and leans back against the too soft cushions.

“It’d be hard for him to not know. I’m sure he had suspicions if not.” He says. BlackHat is an observant being, and a human’s sleep deprived mind often isn’t as tight lipped as he tried to be. There’s a high probability he knew already and just tolerated it for his mind. 

There’s the sound of shoes ascending up the stairs and a polite knock on the door before it opens. Ajah holds a Bible in one hand and gives the two of them an awkward smile like a nurse in a waiting office. In his hands is two small bowls of oatmeal that he sets on the desk.

“Sir, please.” He says and uses his free hand to motion him to follow. Hesitantly, he pick himself up from the couch and follows after the younger male back down the stairs. Beside the wooden tub is a porcelain pitcher. 

“Please remove your shirt and pants.”  He says and sets the Bible down on the desk. As he turns back around he takes notice of Flug’s uncertainty. “You can keep your undergarments on.” He says.

Its only until he’s turned away that Flug begins to unbutton his shirt.  It probably isn’t the most embarrassing thing he’s done, but running away like this was humiliating enough without someone he's just met watching him undress.

Eventually though, he’s left in only his boxers and the necklace, clothes held in one hand as Ajah flips through the Bible, looking at a few highlighted passages. He glances over his shoulder and stands up straighter, something bulging underneath his robes around his sides before shifting back into place. 

“Oh, you’re finished.” He says with an awkward smile and flips the Bible closed as he turns around and faces Flug. A bright blue eye peeks out from underneath his hair.

“Please, take a seat inside the tub and we will begin.” He does as told and folds his hands awkwardly on his lap. 

“Father Alexander says you can answer my question.” He says as Ajah kneels down beside the tub. The small smile that had been across his lips witches downwards for a second. 

“How can I see the marks?” He responds, tone melancholy and expectant. As if he’s had to answer this a thousand times.

“Well, yes and no.” It hadn’t been what he was going to ask initially but now his curiosity was piqued. “Demons marks bind a human’s soul to there’s.” He starts, stopping to ensure Ajah was following. “Then why would a demon I’ve spent years with not permanently mark me?” He asks. 

“You’re not permanently marked?” Ajah asks, genuinely surprised. “There’s a strong possessive energy around you. Normally, demons mark must be done on a blood moon to tie the soul. A mark on any other night will just be a claim to the body. A demon may not mark a human it is exposed to frequently for several reasons. They see no need to, marking is highly dangerous, and if not executed properly, could kill them, or they have claimed someone else. And while demons do not commit to marriage or monogamy as man does, marking tends to be extremely personal to most demonic creatures.”

Flug nods. He runs through the several possibilities in his mind. Who would he mark? BlackHat only left the manor for business. And he never cared when and if  a human died. 

“You’ll need to remove your bag, Sir.” Ajah says and grabs the porcelain pitcher and places it in between his legs. As he’s busy untying the silk cloth from around the handel Flug takes his bag and goggles off. The world goes blurry as the glass is removed from in front of his eyes. Ajah’s eyes go immediately to the scars before quickly moving away. He soaks the cloth into the water.

“Yours hurt you too?” The man’s voice is barely above a whisper. It’s rougher than his normal soft tone, choked sounding. He wants to protest like he has with everyone else but with how small the man had suddenly become had caught him off guard. 

“You were enslaved?” He asks instead. Ajah hangs his head shamefully and rings the excess water from the cloth.

When his head tilted back up there's a distant look in his barely visible eyes. "Yes." Is all he says before holding the cloth up. He presses the cloth to his marred cheek. Carefully he drags it across his skin, covering the entirety of the left half of his face in the blessed water. 

Dipping the cloth back into the pitcher before he moves it down to run it across his collarbone. Beads of water run down his chest, following the dips of his ribs. He works silently, wiping away the scent marks that both demons had left. As he reaches the bandages around his stomach he takes pause and stares.

"Esther will replace your bandages after the cleansing." He says as he picks up Flug's hand and gently moves the cloth across where the coils had melted his skin. Despite the skin being smooth, it aches at the gentle pressure against it. As if only the flesh had been healed but the muscle remained scarred and damaged.

"She should be able to numb any pain you have." He says and dips the silk cloth back into the pitcher. Flug watches his hands move slowly.

"Thank you." He mutters as the other man's fingers open his palm and the cold water drips from the back of his hand onto his thighs.

Neither speak as he finishes up. Ajah ties the wet cloth back around the handle of the pitcher and stands. He tells Flug to close his eyes before the water is slowly poured over his head. It slips down his back and over his face. Cold and stinging against his skin, he can nearly feel the fear lift off his skin. It pools at the bottom of the tub, up to his thighs and nipping at his skin still. His hair sits against his head in sad, soaked curls. A warm hand rests on his shoulder as Ajah kneels beside him again. He then utters a quiet blessing before rising again.

“I have a towel for you.” He grabs a peach colored towel as Flug stands and hands it to him. Wrapping it around his shoulders he steps out of the tub and proceeds to dry off his legs. He meets Ajah’s eye and the two stare for a moment. It looks like he desperately wants to tell him something. His lips twitch but he quickly turns his head to the side. 

“I’ll go fetch Esther to look at your stomach.” He says before quickly moving out of the room. Flug watches him go before dropping the towel and peeling back the bandages to look at the damage.

The skin was less red around the edges and not as puffy. Scabbing had started around the edges but they would definitely need to be stitched. With a sigh, he moves and carefully pulls his trousers on before Esther enters the  room. 

“Well, aren’t you a wet dog?” She asks with a chuckle. “Come with me we can check you out in the bathroom.” She says and moves out the door to the main part of the church. They pass Father Alexander who is organizing papers on the pulpit. As they walk past the Father gives them a nod before his eyes find the now damp bandages and the side of his face. He smile falters and he returns to work. 

“Take a seat.” Esther motions to the toilet as she turns to find the first aid kit. He flips the lid closed and slowly takes a seat, more careful to not irritate his wound than he had been earlier.

She sets the kit down on the sink counter and pops it open before turning back around to face him. With a polite, but awkward smile she pots to his stomach. “Would you mind if I took those off? See what we’re working with.” After shaking his head she leans down and carefully unwraps the bandages. Once she sees the extent of the damage her face scrunches up. 

“Oh dear, that’s going to need stitches.” She says, glancing back at the plastic box.

“Can you do that?” He asks, not really in the mood to stitch himself up. At least not without painkillers and a good nap on a bed first. 

“I can, you’ll just need to lay down somewhere and take a while to let them heal.” She taps her bottom lip with her nail. “I’ll call Berith to come and pick you two up early when we’re done. Come with me upstairs and you can lay on the couch.” She says. 

Flug stands, suddenly feeling very exposed with absolutely nothing covering his chest or stomach. Esther stands and leads Flug out of the bathroom, first aid kit tucked under her arm. Carefully, he crosses his arms over his stomach as the make their way back into the back room. When they enter both Ajah and the tub are gone. 

They make their way back upstairs where Cäcilie was still waiting on the couch, empty bowl in her lap. She was picking as a loose strand on the arm of the couch when the door opens. She looks up, her eyes widening when she sees all that’s covering Flug’s wounds from the world is his palm.

“I hate to kick you off the couch, lamb, but he needs to lie down for a little.” She says with a smile. Cäcilie pops up from the couch and steps to the side with her bowl.

Flug lays himself down across the couch, ankles propped up onto the arm. Esther grabs the desk chair and sets up the first aid kit on her lap. She sets to work silently, and to try and ignore the pain he focuses on the sensation of the needle breaking his skin and pushing through to bring two sides of the wound together. 

For a while, Cäcilie watches with a morbid fascination until Ajah appears to cleanse her. He lingers in the doorway, something haunts his eyes as he stares at the blood. It’s bright against his pale skin, the smell lingers in the air, and in the other man’s mind. 

As Esther begins on the last wound Father Alexander knocks  the door before entering. He doesn’t have the same reaction as Ajah, instead he avoids the sight entirely. 

“Berith rang a few minutes ago.” He says. “He’ll be over within the hour. Even offered to carry Mr. Slys to the car.” 

“Oh, how nice of him.” Esther replies distractedly. She leans closer as she pulls the thread through and closes up a bit more of the wound. Father Alexander stares out the window, he doesn’t seem bothered by her dismissive response in the least bit.

“He said the two of them can sleep up in his loft, but he wouldn’t have me blessing the area.” His hands clamp together, fingers interlocking.

“Interesting.” She wipes blood away with a rag. Flug flinches at the sudden new pressure. He grips one of the decorative pillows tightly with a small hiss. 

Esther sits back and rummages through the first aid kit for something to cover the stitches. She pulls out a small box of gauze pads and medical tape. Carefully, she sets two pads over his stomach and secures them in place. After everything is rearranged neatly back in the box, the lid snaps shut and Esther leaves him to put it away, Father Alexander following behind. 

Flug stares up at the ceiling, hands gingerly resting on his chest just above his heart. The metal of the cross is chilly against his skin. And the smell of oatmeal lingers in the air.

While he waits for, anything really, he thinks of 5.0.5. Was he okay? Was Dementia torturing him? What chaos _has_ she caused? Was Black- No. He physically stops himself from thinking it. _Get him out of your head, Kenning. No more of that. You've gone too far to slip back now_. 

A moment later, Cäcilie appears in the doorway, hair and skin damp. She's followed by Ajah. Carefully, she takes a seat on the arm of the couch she tilts her head to the side and stares down at him.

"How are you feeling?" She asks. 

"I can barely move without it hurting." He responds, arm slowly moving up to brush his hair from his face. It had dried some by now, and had frizzed as normal.

"Yeah, well you walked through the forest. You can manage being taken to the car." She says and forces his wild curls back in front of his eyes. 

"We should bring you downstairs." Ajah says and steps forwards from in the doorway. Cäcilie stands up from the arm of the couch as he approaches. 

A pained grunt escapes him as Ajah carefully slides his arms underneath him. Slowly, he's lifted up into Ajah's chest and leans his head against his shoulder. As he's carried out of the upstairs office, Cäcilie follows behind, grabbing his bag and goggles from the desk. 

The main part of the church is much brighter as they exit the back. The two wide doors are open and a car sits on the edge of the road in front of the building. Just outside the doors stands a tall man. Father Alexander looks up from the pulpit and over to the three of them. He stands a little straighter and gives them a reassuring smile.

"Mr. Echushkya is waiting for you. I'll see you two on Sunday." He says before returning his attention to the papers in front of him.

When they reach Berith in the doorway, he tugs his hands from his pants pockets and holds out his arms for Flug. Ajah, however, carries on past him and heads straight to the old car. Berith makes a scoffing noise behind them and leads Cäcilie towards the car with a pleasant grin. 

"He won't be able to move much for a week or two, and he'll need to clean his stitches every day." Ajah says, turning towards the other man as he waits for him to open the back door. 

"Of course," He responds with a smile as he opens the door. "Wouldn't want him to get infected after all of Esther's hard work." 

Carefully, Flug is laid across the back two seats. He keeps his pain to himself and leans against the back of the seat. It was humiliating, to need assistance like this. But he didn't want to rip the stitches and make it even worse. Berith opens the passenger door for Cäcilie and steps aside to say a quick farewell to a tense Ajah. With a firm pat on the shoulder he turns the younger male back towards the church before climbing into the driver's seat and slamming the door. 

"All right, are you two ready?" He asks, brown eyes glinting in the rearview mirror as he stares back at Flug. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took a literal century, but the words just refused to come to me and work together. Still, I hope you enjoy <3  
> Also, if whoever guesses what Berith's last name is like first you'll get a cookie


	9. Kellergeschoß

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter serves more to establish a few things and get a good link between the last one and the next one than to advance a lot of plot. My apologies if it feels like nothing really happens in this one. I just wanna make sure I get a good foundation on next few chapters' house. Plus the science baby deserves a year long nap after all he's been through.

By the time the manor is within sight, his form had shrunk roughly five thousand feet. He was dragging his paws, running low on energy to maintain this form for much longer.

The front doors were wide open and the remnants of a holding spell stained the ground. The kind that was weak enough to only hold in impermanently marked humans. He passed through it easily, the magic in the air felt like taking a gulp of fresh air. One paw came down to crush a fancy car parked in front as she stared down at the mansion. Flug's scent led inside, which meant he would have to go in as well.

Normally, he would shift back into his usual form and walk through as normal, but he felt if he even attempted to alter anything but he size he would collapse immediately. So, he shrunk himself small enough to fit through the doorway and continued inside. There were dozens of conflicting smells. Several different humans, Tšernobog's, and Flug's. There's blood on the ground in the entrance, Tšernobog's and Flug's.

A growl rips through him and his creates a considerable hole in the wall and sends the front door flying. His human's scent leads upstairs, it's laced with panic. Once at the top it moves to two different rooms. One the demon blood goes into, another a half opened bedroom. He follows the blood first. The room is filled with pheromones of a demon intending to mark and mate.

With a snarl that shook the floor, he backed from the room and into the bedroom. It was filled with Flug's familiar scent. As he nudged the door with it's snout it brushed over him, relaxing his muscles and building rage. The more he focused he could sense Tšernobog's pheromones. And the anger returned tenfold.

Several tendrils lash from his body and destroyed the furniture and tore through the walls. Something rattles loudly and hits the floor with a thud. He stops and looks over to a large padlock and chain on the floor. He pads over to the destruction and nudges the broken wood off from atop something peculiar.

* * *

“Breaking news!” Dementia vaults over the back of the couch, nearly falling off the cushion before she grabbed onto the arm. On the screen was a nicely dressed woman with a pen in between her index and middle finger. She gives the camera a barely contained excited look. “A live broadcast from a small bar in Germany. It appears there was a fight of sorts between two unknown creatures.”

5.0.5’s interest is piqued at that information and leaves dusting to stand beside the couch. A small box appears at the top left of the screen as the woman adjusts herself in her seat. “The attack happened late in the afternoon. Witness reports of a tall man in a top hat and monocle entering before the smaller creature attacked. We have the live footage, take a look.” She says and motions vaguely towards the left side.

As the video begins to play Dementia springs to her feet, her heels making her wobble slightly on the cushions. 5.0.5 seems to reach the same conclusion as he turns to her. “That has to be him!” She says and jumps from the couch before kneeling in front of the screen.

They watch as BlackHat rip the other demon’s head and particle spine from his body. The video suddenly disappears, replaced by the woman’s face. With a growl she jabs a finger on the power button. 5.0.5 is still in his place when Dementia turns to face him, her face pink with anger. She stands, shoes helping her reach eye level with the bear. 

“They’re going around without us! They totally ditched the convention to have fun!” She hisses and swipes up the TV remote to launch it across the room. 5.0.5 makes a panic noise and wrestles it from her hand. She pauses at the bear’s garbled words. 

“No, Blackie would have told us.” Flug hadn’t been in the video. At least, not from what they could see. It was _just_ BlackHat and the other demon. But- Why else would he be fighting him? why else wouldn’t Flug be fighting beside him? 

5.0.5 looks to her to reassure him, but she can’t find it in herself to fully commit to her statement. Flug was like a dog with separation anxiety, loyal and unable to be away from someone in times of danger. He wouldn’t leave BlackHat. Unless…

Her face falls blank and she begins her way down to the lab. The door is closed, has been since they left. Dementia hadn’t even trashed the inside, this year. Now she stops in front of the door, wanting to turn around and run back to her room. It felt like intruding suddenly, like she was walking into a time capsule that hadn't been opened in twenty years. Like she shouldn't disturb the resting place of whatever was still inside. Like if she just never entered, Flug would still be inside.

Behind her is 5.0.5, who doesn't make a noise. He stares at the large handle from over Dementia's shoulders. The two stay still for a minute before she finally breaks and barges into the lab. The air is cold, just as Flug likes it. A blueprint laid out, the corners held down with tools.

"He didn't even finish this." Dementia says and stops in front of the half finished blueprint, her mind edging closer and closer to panic. "He can't be." She turns towards 5.0.5 who's picking up a screw he missed from the ground. When he looks back up at her, his eyes are glassy and his paw shakes. This time she doesn't feel like laughing.

"Stop with that look!" She snaps and looks back to the blueprint. "He's alive! He's alive and messing around in Germany! Because he's some stupid scientist that likes planes and probably tried to help a stupid cat from a stupid tree!" Her fingers grip tightly onto the edge of the table, knuckles turning white as she screams.

"He's gonna come back through that door and yell at us for being here. BlackHat's going to go up to his office and everything will be normal!" 5.0.5 places a large paw on her back. The weight and warmth of it has Dementia crumbling to her knees, pressing her forehead into the edge of the table. 5.0.5 sits down beside her, one paw on her back, the other on his lap as he pulls her into him.

Dementia chokes on the tight feeling in her throat as she stares down at the ground. Just as she musters up the strength to say something again, there's the faint call of a phone upstairs. Both of them sit up straighter and their heads snap towards the doorway as if expecting someone to be there. The open doorway remains empty, but the ringing persists.

She springs to her feet and rushes upstairs and into BlackHat's open office. Pushing a few papers off the desk to reach the phone, she quickly presses the phone to her ear. The voice that comes through the other end nearly has her on her knees again.

"Hello?" Flug's voice was strained slightly, like he was in pain. There was a quiet shuffle. "Hello?" Dementia blinks from her trance and audibly snaps her hanging jaw shut.

"Flug!" She shrieks into the phone. "Where are you?!"

"Ow! Calm down, Dementia." He says. Dementia's face grows angry again.

"Calm down?! Your across the world and our boss is on the news mauling some other demon! We're in the dark here, we know as much as everyone else and you tell me to calm down?!" She screams.

"Listen! I'm sorry, okay?" He sighs into the phone, when he speaks again his voice is softer. The one he uses on a scared 5.0.5. And it works. "It's all too complicated for me to explain now. But- huh? Oh, no." There's another, quieter voice on the other side, talking to them. "Just a few more minutes."

"Flug?" She asks. 5.0.5 steps through the doorway, his ears flicking up at the noise. She motions them over and holds the phone for both of them to hear.

"Yeah, sorry. Dem, I just need you to understand I didn't want to leave- at first." He says. "I was taken from the convention and sold. But now, I'm free."

"What?" She asks. At his words a boulder is dropped into her stomach.

"I'm going to be my own person now." He says, trying to sound confident. "I wont have to listen to any demon ever again." He says.

"What about us?!" She yells, 5.0.5 making a noise of agreement. Flug's side is silent for a while.

"I want to come for you. I want to see you guys again. I miss you. It's just- they say it's too dangerous." The other voice speaks again.

"Who's 'them'?" She asks. But no response comes. "Flug?!"

"Sorry to cut the conversation so short." A new man's voice says. "But the call's already long enough to track and we don't want to risk anything. Maybe you can speak again sometime when he's safe." He says before the line goes dead.

* * *

Berith takes the phone easily from Flug's fingers and climbs down the stairs to the first level of the house as he speaks into it. Flug lays back and sighs into the paper of his bag. He's been lying here since yesterday, letting the stitches heal. It was a very boring process. Cäcilie spent most of her time at the church, while he had to stay in bed and read whatever was brought to him. He'd need to stay like this for another week at least. To minimize the chance of his tear the stitches back open.

It's been three days since Esther had sewn his wounds. She'd been around yesterday to make sure they were healing properly and weren't infected. On the back of her hand and around her other wrist had been large purple bruises. When he'd asked she's pressed a little harder with the cloth on his stomach. He didn't push the subject.

Berith helps him clean his stomach the afternoons Cäcilie is out with Ajah or Esther. Neither are really allowed out on their own just yet, until they can locate BlackHat and ensure he isn't going to be a threat to them. Right now, they don't have a location on him, his last appearance was at the bar, and no word since.

The news still speaks about the fight, scientists examining the footage to try and determine what known species they were. One hypothesized that they were dormant dinosaurs that had awaken. Others blamed supernatural beings from all religions and most every religious program was ordering believers to repent, and quickly, for this was a sign the end was near. Flug stopped listening to the radio after that.

Berith is a kind man. He's a little awkward with some topics and has a tendency to space out or roll his shoulders whenever he's uncomfortable. Other than that he's pleasant to talk to and even has excellent cooking. It reminded him of 5.0.5's cooking. And wasn't that a stab to the gut?

He returns upstairs after a few minutes, smile on his face and a new book in hand. "I noticed your nearly finished with that one, thought I bring you another one so you wouldn't have to wait." He says and sets the new one down on top of the one he was currently reading. Flug shimmies up on the bed and gives him a small smile.

"Thank you." He says.

"If I could be so nosy, who was it you were calling. Sounded like a woman." He says and leans against the side of the bed. Flug carefully reaches up and adjusts his bag.

"Oh, my creations." He says, he never had an exact word to describe Dementia and 5.0.5. While creations wasn't technically false, children didn't quite fit, neither did coworkers. He certainly viewed 5.0.5 as his child and Dementia as a rowdy younger sister, but it would take too long to explain their true nature when worded like that.

"Oh." His eyebrows rising and forming wrinkles on his forehead. "That's one way of saying children." He says with a chuckle.

"No, like, in a lab and test tube." He corrects. Berith's expression changes to one mild surprise and intrigue. "It's a long story."

"Oh, I don't doubt that." He laughs and turns to head back down the stairs. "Would you like a glass of water or something to eat? We don't have to check your stitched for another few hours."

"A drink. Please."

* * *

 "How are you feeling? Do you want to sit down?" Cäcilie asks, keeping close behind him as he walks into the church. His stomach was still a little sore, but the pain that came from moving was a lot more manageable now.

"No, It's okay. You don't have to worry so much." He says and turns to face her. A quiet squeak comes from the other side of the room and Cäcilie's attention quickly leaves Flug. Her face pales slightly and she grabs onto Flug's wrist. He turns to look at what caught her attention. It's Esther as she makes her way out from the back room. On her palms and fingers are large black stains, like thick, black ink. She's adorned in a Nun's habit, a chunky wooden cross hung from her neck.

Her eyes rise to meet theirs and her features slacken with surprise before she recovers and gives them a wide grin. Her arms extending as if to hug them across the church. The black on her palms has a red tint to it that catches in the sun.

"Flug! I'm so glad to see you walking again! I should go fetch Father Alexander to show him the good news!" She says and turns back towards the door she'd just came from, closing it behind her. A minute or two later, a flustered Ajah rushes from the back door and nearly runs into them.

"Flug!" He gasps before quickly pushing his bangs back into place and collecting himself. "How are you feeling?"

"The pain's a lot more tolerable." He says. Ajah gives an awkward nods and grabs at his robes near his stomach.

"I'm glad. Well, would the two of you like anything in town?" He asks and makes his way around them. "I'm going to the store for tonight's dinner."

"Could I come with you?" Flug asks, behind them the backroom's door open again.

" _No_! Uh- Sorry, I mean we shouldn't over exert you. You should probably stay here." He says before turning and quickly exiting. Esther passes them silently, her hands now clean, and closes the door behind Ajah.

"Child! Oh, the Lord smiles upon your fast recovery!" Father Alexander says and steps down from the pulpit. He clasps Flug on both shoulders and gives him a large grin. "He have some Hasenpfeffer left if your hungry." 

"Yes, please." He says and glances to Cäcilie, who still looks a little uneasy, but has recovered from her initial shock and is holding a conversation with Esther. 

"Great!" He says and leads Flug towards a long table with many dishes laid out. He grabs a clean plate and fork and serves Flug some lukewarm stew. It isn't the most appetizing looking Hasenpfeffer he's been served, but he hasn't eaten since this morning and at this point anything would do. "Here, come sit while you eat." Father Alexander leads him to a pew and helps him slowly sit. He rests the plate on his lap and looks up at the man.

"Father, can I go out and walk?" He asks. Fresh air is really what he's craving. He wanted the sun on his arms again and the twitter of birds in his ears after being held up inside for so long. Father's smile appears a little less authentic at the request, but doesn't drop any.

"Not on your own, Child. We don't want to risk you getting caught." He says. 

"I can stay on church grounds." He offers. 

" _No_." The Father says sternly before leaving to the back room. Flug watches him go before looking back down to his stew. With a quiet sigh, he picks up the fork and begins to eat. It isn't long before he's finished his portion and stands to place the dirtied plate on the table next to a pile of other used plates. Looking around, the front room is empty save the wooden statuette of Jesus on the altar. 

Deciding that he's never been one to listen to what he's told, he makes his way to the front doors. Opening them slowly, he peers out. The street is empty and no cars are pulled into the small, weed infested parking lot. Stepping out he looks around at the bright green grass and the tall trees and nearly feels like a kid again. If it weren't for his current condition, he might find himself climbing one of those trees. 

Instead he walks down the short path that connects the church to the road and stops when a muffled noise meets his ear. It sounded like something far off hitting something, or a wild animal's final cry. He whirls around, half expecting BlackHat to be standing behind him, claw reaching for his throat. But he was alone. 

 Then, he notices something on one side of the church. Cellar doors peeking up from the ground. With his curiosity piqued, he makes his way towards the two doors. As he nears he sees a heavy chain keeping the two doors closed, connected at both ends with an equally heavy padlock. Just as he leans in to further investigate the sound of quickly approaching shoves on the gravel path startles him. 

Ajah rounds the corner and stops dead in his tracks. A large paper bag nearly slips from his hold as he stares at him. Flug stares back, equally flustered by the sudden encounter. 

"Flug." He says carefully and hoists the bag up in his hold. "What are you doing back here?" He asks, tone nervous. 

"Getting some fresh air. You?" He asks. Ajah's face is flushed pink with worry as his knuckles go white around the edges of the bag. He shifts on his feet, something shifting underneath his robes, something with a rounded point. 

"I'm restocking the church's kitchen." 

"Then why is it chained up?"

"Oh," He chuckles and looks at the thick chains keeping the doors closed. "To keep animals out. We used to have a huge problem with them getting in and eating all the food before service." He says. 

"I can help you." Flug offers, stepping aside to allow him enough room to unlock the cellar. His eyes widen and he shakily places down the bag. With quick movements he pats at his hips and pockets before laughing again. 

"Oh, I forgot my key. I'll have to get the Father." He says before scooping the bag up and quickly making his way inside.  Flug doesn't move from his spot, watching his robes flick out around his ankles as he turns the corner. Once he was gone, he carefully bends down and picks up the padlock. The chain clicks as it moves. It appears like any other padlock, easy enough to pick.

" _Slys_." Esther's voice says behind him suddenly and her hand is on his shoulder. With a yelp he jumps back and lands on his side. Pain shoots up from his stomach up to his chest and settling into his bones. "Berith is here for you." She says and leaves him to get up on his own.

He shoots her back a glare as he slowly sits up and uses the cellar doors to help him stand up. Carefully, he wraps an arm around himself and makes his way back to the front of the building. In the parking lot is Berith and Cäcilie making their way towards the man's car. He quickens his pace to catch up with them, catching sight of Ajah on the front doorstep, the Father's hand on his shoulder as he spoke to the younger male in a hushed tone. 

"Flug!" Cäcilie calls when she spots him. Father Alexander looks up and gives him a smile before leading Ajah inside. "Hurry up!" 

"I'm coming!" He yells back and manages to pull his eyes from the closing door. Suddenly, the air seemed to change and something settled in his stomach. 

Berith is in the front seat and putting the keys into the ignition by the time he reaches the car. Cäcilie steals the passenger seat. "How was your time out of the house?" Berith asks as Flug closes the car door. He buckles himself in and leans back against the old cushions.

"I'm glad to be walking again." He chuckles at the and twists around to pull out of the parking space. 

"I'm sure you're tired, why don't you take a nap on our way back." Despite not feeling tired in the slightest, Flug finds himself nodding anyways. And a few minutes later, he dozes off against the window.


	10. Ehrbarkeit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do y'all know how much you've influenced this story? I want to thank all of you from the bottom of my heart for helping me make this story a better story and encouraging me to continue this when I was feeling at my worse. This isn't the last chapter, probably not even in the last 3, but I just want you to understand how much I love and appreciate everyone's who commented, dropped a kudos, or even read this far. It means so much to me as an aspiring author.

The Father's service carries on for what feels like entirely too long. Most of the people responded enthusiastically to the sermon, clapping when he finished a point and calling 'Amen' in agreement. Flug retreats into himself through most of it, loosing himself in his own mind. They drift to back at the manor, to what's he'd been working on before leaving, to his boss. His chest still aches for his old life, for resting against 5.0.5 after a stressful day with a book the bear probably didn't understand yet listened to. For telling off Dementia after nearly setting his blueprints on fire. For the incomparable pride of his inventions being even slightly praised by BlackHat.

Those thoughts sent a pain through his chest, that familiar yearning ache for something that was no more.

With a shake of his head he forces his gaze to focus on the Father, hands on the altar, gripping both sides as he spoke to the crowd. His words didn't reach his ears, lost somewhere in the space in which his thoughts and want to pay attention battled for control of his mind. Truthfully, neither seemed to win as he sat there, thinking of nothing in particular and listening to nothing. Movement in front of him has him suddenly snapping back to earth. Father Alexander moves, Bible in hand and robes swaying as he stops. There's this hard look in his eyes, his eyebrows furrowed tightly with determination. His knuckles white around the holy book.

"And we shall rid this land of the demons that plague it! We shall take them from the bodies of the Lord's people and expel them back to where they came!" A small chorus of 'Amens!' follows. "Fear not if the devil has taken hold of your loved ones, if evil lays its mark upon your skin! We are here to aid you in your time of need. Come to us and we shall save your soul so the Lord may smile upon you again."

He walks back behind the altar and places the Bible back down. His eyes scan the room, he looks a different person from the man he meant on the first day. His soft edges had turned sharp and unforgiving. He looked on his followers like the audience of the auction had looked at him. Like meat on a plate presented to a hungry man, eager to tear it apart for everything its worth.

His eyes suddenly meet with Flug's and grips onto the altar again, leaning forwards. "No demon shall dig its claws into your soul and being as long as your in this church."

After the service, the Father mingles flawlessly with those that attended. His demeanor has changed to loud laughs and dopey smiles. Esther is at his side, tittering at something the Father has said. Flug remains in his seat, watching the people move about. No one seems to notice the peculiar feeling lingering in the air, or the way the Father's smile falters and his eyes linger when someone leaves. Ajah does not appear until everyone has left, poking his head from the back door like a child might. He steps out, dressed in new robes, and looks around. Spotting Flug he gives him a small wave and climbs the short stairs up onto the pulpit. The Father and Esther see everyone out as Ajah tidies the Father's papers.

"Did you enjoy the Father's service?" He asks, looking over at him as he puts all the loose papers back in order. Flug hums and rises from his seat.

"I couldn't keep focus." He admits and runs his palms along the material of his trousers. Berith had leant him some old clothes to change into when he left the home. All the trousers he had been given were far too long, and had to be rolled up four times so they stopped at his ankle instead of past his foot.

"Ah, did you not sleep last night?" He asks as the large doors of the church close. Esther's heels click quietly on the tile behind them.

"I did. Just... Thinking." Ajah looks as if he might respond but Esther is beside Flug suddenly and he shuts his mouth. Her hand is on his shoulder, and something black has settled deep in the crevices of the skin of her skin, stubborn and deep enough to not be removed by the first scrubbing.

"Are you hungry, Lamb?" She asks and diverts his attention to the long table with her hand. Then, she turns to Ajah and fixes him with a tight smile. "You've done very well this week, Harvestman." She says. Despite the praise he physically retreats into himself but offers a smile in return.

"Thank you, Sachem." In his nervousness, he nearly knocks the Bible from the altar.

"You know what I expect." She says as makes her way towards the backroom doors, her hands clasped together behind her back. His eyes linger on her back before they turn back towards Flug. He searches his features for a moment, trying to see if he had picked up on anything.

"Would you like any of Esther's Kartoffelpuffer? We have applesauce and sour cream to go with it." He offers and steps down from the pulpit. With an extended hand he leads him to the long table. A few dishes had some food left, with even more used plates stacked to the side to be washed.

"Who cooks all of this?" He asks and picks up a pancake from the plate. It had cooled down considerably from the beginning of the morning, where Flug could see the steam from his church pew. It doesn't taste quite like his mother's however, who always made Kartoffelpuffer the way it ought to be. 

"Esther makes most of it. I help when not busy." He says and breaks a small piece off from one of the few remaining pancakes. Checking if anyone else is still in the room with them before putting it in his mouth. "Though, I'm normally to busy to help with anything more than preparations."

"What do you do?" Flug asks. "The Father preaches, Esther cooks, certainly you can't just clean."

"I-I do more than that." He protests weakly. His hands come up to clasp together tightly. "I go out to town for the Father. And I-" His eyes dart to the side suddenly and his knuckles go pale. "Help in sermon and meal preparations." He says and presses a small cup of applesauce into Flug's hand. "Now, I've got to make sure the Father doesn't need assistance."

Watching him leave, he stirs the spoon around in the cup. He stares down at it, attempting to gather his thoughts from earlier and understand what Ajah had been ensuring he hadn't understood between him and Esther. She couldn't have meant his doing good was his organization. Her voice too tight and her eyes too concentrated to mean straightened papers. In their brief conversation, she hadn't even glanced down at his hands. 'This week' she said, the church only had one sermon a week. There wasn't many papers outside of preparing and putting away papers each Sunday. 

The encounter had reminded him of a younger version of himself. When BlackHat was much worse in attitude and much more physical, and Dementia and 5.0.5 hadn't even been thoughts yet. When he'd spend every waking moment terrified of his boss appearing, or his inventions not being good enough. Those fears never really disappeared, certainly not during such important business opportunities where his ability to preform at his best would either make or break an international relationship. It was obvious in his eyes, he was scared. When he looks at the Father or Esther, he's terrified. Of what, Flug doesn't know. They aren't very physically impressive people, and Ajah stood over the both of them. Though, that didn't stop a person from being abused. 

Suddenly, he' being touched again and the cup nearly tumbles from his hand. In his surprise his hand hold the spoon flicks up and sends applesauce onto Cäcilie. Her features scrunch up in surprise and disbelief. It lands and sticks just below her eye and speckled in a few places on her forehead. It would have been a funny sight if he hadn't been the one to catapult applesauce onto her. 

"I'm sorry!" He says and reaches quickly for the small stack of napkins. When he turns around again she's wiping it off with her finger and licking it off, an amused look in her eye.

"Didn't think I'd scare you that bad." She says through laughter. "You were just standing there, I thought you heard me." He hands her the napkin anyway. She takes it and stuffs it into the front pocket of her trouser. "You should come outside." 

"Hey, have you... noticed anything?" He asks. Her eyebrow furrow and her smile quirks up on one side. He takes that as a clear 'no'. "Like, from the Father, or Esther?" 

"I mean, they're a little weirder than the folks at the bookstore." She says. "But the only really weird one is Ajah." She says and begins her way back towards the front doors, he follows after her.

"What? How?" Everyone is weird here, but he was the one that seemed to be hiding the least- or abused in some way. 

"He's obviously hiding something about marking. I asked what happens if your demon dies and he froze up, wouldn't speak to me for the rest of the cleansing." She says. "I mean, isn't it weird he's the only one that can see markings? That's gotta mean something." She says. 

"But the Father-" He starts when she opens the door Father Alexander is on the other side. He smiles a lot like Esther had, tightly and with cold eyes. 

"How are you two doing?" He asks. His tone is the universal one of 'I know what your thinking, and there will be consequences.' One the both of them were familiar with from their old masters. One both easily bent to. 

"We're good, Father!" She says, meek smile. Flug looks at her from the corner of his eye, wondering if she had picked up on it and just knew better than to speak of it. But if there was one thing he's learned from his tour around Europe is that he's done keeping his mouth shut. Just as he opens his mouth the Father directs his attention back towards him with another, wider and more threatening smile.

"I'm glad to hear." He responds before making his way past them, arm brushing against Flug's. Looking back to Cäcilie, who's eyes close for a moment as she exhales quietly.

"You can't tell me he wasn't acting weird just then." He whispers. She continues forward without even so much acknowledging what he said and stops in front of a man he's never seen before. 

"Flug, I want you to meet Obed." She says and holds her arm out towards a man. He's a small thing, his skin a rich hazel and his hair in unruly, tight curls around his face. He smiles, a small gap in between his two front teeth.

"¡Hola! You must be Flug!" He says rather loudly and holds out a hand for him to take. Flug takes it and is jarred for a moment by how much he shakes it. 

"It's nice to meet you." He says rather awkwardly.

"Yes. I heard they too in a few new people and wanted to drop by and see them myself." He says, still shaking his hand. 

"You don't get many new comers?" He asks and manages to free his hand from Obed's firm grip.

"We do. It's just this church only takes in a few people. They're in and out within a few days. You guys have been their longest visitors." He says and looks over at Cäcilie. She's giving the both of them a smile a mother might don when two children are meeting for the first time—hoping for the best but preparing for the worst.

"How many other people have-" He starts but Cäcilie steps forwards and places her hand on his shoulder. She gives Obed another smile as she effectively cuts him off.

"Sorry about him, he used to be a scientist, you know? Lived in America too." Obed's eyebrows raise in interest. 

"Your accent's very convincing for an American." He says with a pleasant smile.

"No, I'm German." He says, miffed. If even Cäcilie wasn't willing to ask questions he didn't know what to do. She'd been willing to blind her master, and now she didn't even want to hear his worries out. "I just worked there." 

"Ah, I've always wanted to try an American burger." He chuckles, tucking his hands away into his back pockets. 

"They're sloppier than you'd think." He says and looks around for something to distract himself. "I'll talk to you later, Cäcilie." For a moment her flash worry before she gives him a tight smile and small nod.

"Have fun, Flug." Quickly she busies Obed with a different train of conversation. He begins back towards the church before he stops and looks back at the few people congregating in front of the church. A few children run about, yelling and laughing. Their parents chat pleasantly amongst themselves, catching each other up on their lives. It reminds him of his own childhood, though Sundays were never this pleasant.

His family didn't go to church save but once or twice a year, but each Friday all of his siblings would take their place at the dinning table. They would lay out all the tests they had taken that week, every graded paper or assignment for their parents to see. One by one, they would look through each paper. Ensuring the grade was acceptable,—Which was never below a ninety-five—that the handwriting was up to snuff, and that an adequate amount of work had been put in. Only then, were they allowed to go out and socialize with their peers.

If one of their papers didn't meet standard, they would be prohibited from leaving the home and would have to practice their extra curricular, be denied dinner that weekend, and made to endure three lashes across the back. If you screamed, you received three more. Flug was never the worse out of his brothers and sisters, in fact, he didn't remember which one of them went hungry most weekends. Just that he was the one to sneak his meals to them. 

Looking at these children now, he wonders if this is the carefree attitude he'd been denied as a child. The ability to just be loud and careless with his peers. To have a sense of belonging. These children would never need to stare death and evil incarnate in the eye, never need to bow to other's will as he has, never need to run for their lives. Maybe this is for the best. He'll make himself a new name and pretend to be one of those children that have never needed to grow faster than they should. He'll get far away from this church with its weird inhabitants, and make his own life. Get a boring nine-to-five and maybe take a year or so to learn a new skill. 

Berith's car pulls into the parking lot beside a minivan. He steps out and closes the door loudly. He watches as he slowly makes his way towards the church. Children nearly slam into his legs, instead they stumble and do a quick side step to continue running. He's already smiling by the time he reaches Flug and pulls a hand from the pocket of his trousers to clasp Flug on the shoulder. 

"You taking it all in?" He asks and follows his gaze towards the three families. 

"Just thinking." He replies dismissively. 

"I cant remember being their age." He chuckles, head tilting towards the children. 

"My parents were too strict for me to play like this. It was always violin first." Flug leans back against the mossy brick that made up the outside of the church. Berith looks at him for a moment before taking his hand off and responding. 

"Well it's your life now, you get to decide if you'd like to run off and play once everything's sorted out." He says with a sideways smile and motions loosely out towards the road and shops across the street.

"Yeah..." He wants to tell him that it still didn't feel right, that it never did. Instad he bites down on his bottom lip and watches as two parents round up their child and begin to head home. He hears Obed's voice for a moment before departing and Cäcilie spots Berith. The man waves her over and she quickly moves towards them.

"Cäcilie! My dear, how was your day?" He asks as she approaches.

"I'll be staying late again tonight." She says. "Esther wants to show me a few recipes." 

"Will she be bringing you home or should I pick you up?" Her eyes also find the remaining children, though she is less disconsolate to see them. She shakes her head and fixes her sleeves. 

"Esther's walking me back." She says. "But I'll be back before ten." 

"We'll keep your dinner warm for you." He promises with a smile and gives her shoulder a small tap. "Have fun." She departs with a smile, white hair brushing over her shoulder as her had turns. The large doors close behind her and Flug isn't sure why he's suddenly apprehensive for her to leave. "Well then, let's get home."

Berith begins to make his way towards the car, movement slow and lazy. Flug watched him go, forgetting he was supposed to follow. If he couldn't trust the church members to be honest with him, what about Berith? He'd always seemed honest enough, but so had Tšernobog when he wore BlackHat's face, Golden Monarch on the plane. Everyone seemed out to get him since he first arrived in Germany. Every person he's come in contact seems to be hiding something or ready to use him. Nothing is stopping Berith from being one of those people.

Suddenly Berith's form disappears into car and Flug blinks back into reality. He scrambles to catch up and quickly slides into the passenger's seat. The car engine's purrs quietly as Berith turns the keys, Flug's hand fumble as he hurries to buckle himself in. A quiet snicker sounds beside him, but he's too embarrassed to look over at him. The ride home is silent, Flug watches out the window at the people outside. 

Again he feels that sharp sting of jealousy, of yearning for a typical human life. To have been cared for and nurtured while young and to lived without the faintest hint that just how evil the world could be. But those feelings are useless now. He's stuck here and now, knowing what he knows and living through all that he has. With a quiet sigh he turns from the window and examines the mat on the floor beneath his fidgeting foot. 

Berith doesn't say anything as he pulls into the driveway and cuts the engine. Flug watches him slip out, carefully closing the door behind himself. He feels that same feeling he had in the auction, staring down Golden Monarch after running. Hollow hopelessness. There's no reason for it, he knows he's practically months away from freedom. As soon as BlackHat is located he could move anywhere, maybe draw 5.0.5 or Dementia out and live their own lives. BlackHat Org. be damned. 

Still, a part of him wondered about BlackHat. Where he was, what he was doing, how he was feeling. Was he tracking him down or going home? Was he still pissed at them, or him? Does he even care anymore? 

"Fuck." He curses himself for going down that line of thought again. "Get him out of your head." He orders himself and steps out. Berith is looking through his small ring of keys for his house one. "It's over." There isn't any confidence in his last, whispered, statement. Nothing was ever truly over until BlackHat declared it over. And so far, he hasn't heard anything from him declaring as much. And maybe he never would hear anything from BlackHat again.

"What's your stomach wanting tonight?" Berith asks, looking over his shoulder as he jams the key into the lock. He looks back down at his hands as he twists it and pushes the door open for him. Flug walks faster and gives him a stressed smile as he passes. His earlier appetite had been squandered by Father Alexander's smoldering look. "You look apprehensive." He notes and closes the door behind himself. 

"I'm just not that hungry." He says as he slips his borrowed shoes off and sets them down on the rack. Berith's keys clatter loudly as they hit the coffee table. The man tosses his boots onto the couch and pulls his hair from the drooping bun it had been in. 

"You'd think someone as scrawny as you would always be hungry." He says with a chuckles and slips the hair tie around his wrist. Flug chuckles and shakes his head, watching as he moves towards the kitchen. 

"Yeah, that's the funny thing. I'm never hungry anymore." He chuckles and works his goggles down around his neck and slips his bag off. He follows Berith into the kitchen as he fixes his goggles back over his face. Blinking as the world suddenly came back into focus. 

"That's probably not good, you know? People need to eat sometime." He says and pops the fridge door open, bending backwards to get a better look inside. "Shall we have pasta or meat?" He asks, leaning against the open door. 

"I'll eat either." He says. Berith turns back to the fridge and hums. He grabs a jar and places it onto the counter before grabbing a half empty box of angle hair noodles. 

"I'll call you down when they're done." He says, looking back over his shoulder as he grabbed a pot. Flug responded with a nod before quickly making his way up into the loft. The bed was disheveled, the blankets bunched up near the pillows, but he didn't mind. He threw himself down onto the small nest and curled up as much as he could. 

What could be in that cellar? There was no way he was buying it was the kitchen. No kitchen—even with a pest problem— would use a padlock and chain as thick as his arm. They had to be keeping something in or out. But which could it be? Maybe it had to do with demons? They way they talked about slaying demons and demolishing their wickedness certainly made them sound a bit obsessed. Could they be capturing lesser demons and holding them in the cellar? 

But why? What would be the point other than pointless violence. Besides, killing a demon's physical form didn't mean they couldn't return. They had to be either killed by a stronger demon or destroyed with some sort of religious item. They were just making angrier demons if they killed them how humans were killed. And more enraged demons lead to more violent demons, which only caused themselves more problems. 

None of this made sense. Ajah seemed too jumpy to be able to even hold a knife, Esther and the Father certainly seemed capable of it. But during the daylight they were always in the church, around other people. They didn't have a lot of time to imprision and manage a demon to simply torture. 

All this speculation was driving him crazy. If he were Dementia she would have marched back to the church and ripped the padlock off by now. There was a lot of things Dementia would have done different if she was here. Like not leave BlackHat's side in the convention. She'd probably be home- No. Not home anymore. She would have been in the _manor_ by now. Because she was hopelessly infatuated with BlackHat. Still, he was glad it wasn't her that had been subject to this. 

She was like a weird sister to him. Annoying but endearing in her own sense. If she had been the one to nearly been marked and carted around half of Europe he never would have forgiven himself. He supposed he deserved this though. For all he had done in his life. Karma truly was the cruelest mistress. 

* * *

He would have loved to maul them. Watched them unravel beneath his claws and devour all that made them what they were. But he needed them alive. at least for now. That didn't necessarily mean their soul had to remain intact. 

They stare up at his towering figure of rotting skin and molten lava. The human tries to run and he watches as they trip over their own feet. He lifts a paw and carefully lowers it down onto them, crushing the human. With the loud crack of bones and muted screams of the damned he disappears into the human's skin. 

Their soul is practically pure. He devours it without much thought, feeling energy return to him. Outside the human screams and thrashes against the forest floor. Their bones protrude, eyes bleed, head spins completely around as their body tries to accept something that shouldn't exist was now inside it. He realizes—moments before it would have been too late—and forces the human's body to accept his presence. 

Their neck twists and snaps back into place, their bones sinking back into place and flesh mending itself, tears running dry. He reaches up and wipes at his new, temporary, face. Standing was a difficult feat. It took a minute to remember how a human body functioned, much less how to properly piolet one. Nevertheless, the managed to pull himself together and puppets the human back towards town.

* * *

 Cäcilie still hasn't returned by the time Berith has called him down from the loft to eat. He isn't too worried over it however, this isn't the first time she's been late, mingling with people and learning skills that would be useful for her new start. Flug supposes he should be doing the same but he found he just wanted to escape from everyone and sleep outside for a week or two. 

"Thank you." He says as he sits. Berith has already set a plate out for him. The other man sits across from his and twirls a fork around his fingers. 

"Happily, Slys." He says, leaning forwards against the table. Hesitantly he begins to eat, trying his damnest to not look at Berith. "So," He starts, fork twirling around on his plate. "Talk to me, Slys. How are you feeling?" The request is simple enough, he doesn't say it like a command, certainly didn't look like he was demanding anything. But despite Flug's hesitance, he couldn't stop his mouth from opening, he couldn't stop the words. Much to his own horror. 

"I'm worried. What if I was wrong? Being under BlackHat is all I've known for years. I've gotten used to working for him, meeting the deadlines, inventing. Without it I don't know what to do, I don't have anything to occupy the time like I used to. Now I have time to think and just be without stressing over everything and it feels... Weird. It feels hollow and worrying." He tries to cover his mouth but his lips keep moving, muffled by his palm. What was happening?! _Shut up, Kenning! Shut up!_ "What if running away was the wrong decision? I still care about people in the manor and I still want to go back to them. I know I shouldn't want to but that doesn't seem to stop it." Finally his mouth closed. He stared—utterly horrified—at Berith, who's expression was unamused for a quick moment before turning sympathetic. 

"Oh, Dear, it's okay to be worried. It's part of change. I mean, as long as you don't really want to go back to him?" He says and takes a bite. Flug doesn't trust his mouth enough to lower his hands. He answer wasn't one anyone was looking for. 

"No. Never." He says through his hands, staring down at his plate. Berith is silent for a minute. He can't bring himself to look up at his expression, afraid of what he would do. His body tenses in anticipation for the blow that's going to come. 

"Honestly?" He asks. Again, his voice wasn't demanding, and he sounded rather calm. But when Flug opened his mouth to assure him he wasn't lying, he found he couldn't get the words out. 

"Sometimes." He says instead. What words he had been going to say was 'I am.' but when he mouth did move those words didn't come. In shock, he clamps his hands tighter over his face. Berith chuckles quietly and stands from the table, plate only half finished. He makes his way around the table. His muscles begin to ache with his had he's tensing them in preparation for a hit or a hand around his throat. Instead, a hand gently rests on his shoulder, but he flinches anyway.

"You're tired, Dear." He says quietly, kneeling down next to him. His other hand reaches up to brush Flug's curls from his face. However, he stops midmotion when the male jerks back away from his hand. "Go get some sleep, yeah? You'll feel better in the morning." 

Flug nods, one hand still holding his hand closed as he slowly stood. He eyes never leave Berith, who remains kneeling and stares right back. The tension in the air is nearly visible between the two. Quickly, he turns around and hurries upstairs and buries himself under his covers. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, I feel like this chapter is a little dialogue heavy in the beginning, so sorry about that. But there's gonna be a ot of describing coming up so maybe that'll balance it out.


	11. Kirche

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm in a writing frenzy rn and literally cant stop lmao. The next chapter might come soon as well.

The next morning Flug can't look Berith in the eye. Shame ran thick in his veins and kept his mouth shut through breakfast. Cäcilie didn't seem to notice how tense he was and chatted freely with Berith over their oatmeal. The thought of whatever had happened last night occurring again was terrifying. His own mouth had turned against him, speaking words that should not be spoken. Telling his guilty thoughts to someone he could not entirely trust. Something was definitely wrong again. Something horribly wrong in this small town. If the Father's and Esther's behavior hadn't tipped him off before, his own body betraying him had sent him over the edge. His body was still buzzing with adrenaline from last night, buzzing with horrified thoughts.

Once breakfast had been finished Cäcilie went back up into the loft to change. Flug, rather nervous to be somewhat alone with Berith, busied himself with fixing his bag and cleaning the lenses of his goggles. Lamenting the crack that ran along one. It had caused the implanted screen to stop working, leaving his eye visible. It was rather awkward looking, one side a black dot and the other a green eye. At least he still had them, and the crack didn't interrupt his vision too much. He wouldn't know what to do if he suddenly couldn't see.

When he'd finished with his goggles he slid his bag on and fretted at even the smallest wrinkle. It wasn't unlike when he started wearing them. For twenty minutes each morning he'd worry over the bag and ensuring that it was immaculate before putting it on and carefully slipping is goggles over it. The first time he had put it on hadn't exactly been in the best situation.

 

Everything was still bleeding and he swore he could feel and smell the gasoline on his skin and clothes. In all honesty, he was proud he even managed to claw out from the wreck and crawl long enough to get to a small town. He had to push his leg back into place to make sure the bone would set properly. The scream that had come from his had made three different apartment window's to light up. Someone had come down to investigate, but he had scrunched himself behind a trashcan until they left. There was no way of ensuring his missing posters weren't hung here. He only had to wait until his plane was discovered for him to be presumed dead. While he scavenged around for something to make a splint out of he had laughed. _This isn't how I had thought of faking my own death_ , he'd thought, amused in a morbid way.

For a while he just laid there. Letting his body rest and his mind realize that he's looked death in the face and laughed. Maybe this was when his mind started fraying around the edges. When all morality was thrown out the window and replaced with the instinctive need to just survive. When daylight began to break he looked around again and spotted a dirty paper bag on top of a small trash bin. Crawling over he checked inside and took out a mostly eaten apple. Discarding the fruit he carefully ripped holes big enough for his eyes and slipped it over his head, placing his mostly shattered goggles on top.

There was a broken two-by-four leaning against another trashcan. He nearly laughs at how pathetic he must have looked, scavenging around in the trash. Securing the two pieces of wood on either side of his leg with a torn up T-Shirt. His DIY splint was crude and the wood too long on one side that it jabbed into his inner thigh. But it would have to do. He needed to be able to move in the day. While his wanna-be splint might raise concern in itself, it was much better to be able to move at all than to be whisked away to some hospital and delivered back into his father's hands.

 

Cäcilie's shoes click as she descends the stairs, hands messing with snowy white hair. Berith had moved from the kitchen to lounging on the couch, tossing the TV remote between his hands. "I'll be down at the market." She says and grabs her shoes. Berith barely looks up to her and nods. "Shouldn't be too long."

"Can I come?" He asks, anxiously cracking his knuckles. She pulls a face at the noise before looking at him with confusion. He sounded like a little brother wanting to tag along. _Making up for lost time I suppose._

"Sure. I'll just be walking around, getting air. Nothing interesting." She warns and does up her shoes. Flug slips on his own rather quickly, barely taking a moment to correct the tongue of his left sneaker.

"That's fine." He says quickly and makes his way towards the front door, eager to get outside. She seems a little suspicious of his motives but doesn't say anything and instead follows him outside. He makes sure to stay close behind her, pressing down on his knuckles to try and get another pop from them.

The walk to the market is short and silent. Cäcilie seems content with the fresh air and Flug is more than happy to get outside. The town is buzzing with life. All the children had already gone off to school, leaving stay at home parents to go out and finish up a few chores. Two old women watch as their grandson, who couldn't even be a year old, bounces and coos on one of their knees. They laugh with each other as they pass and Flug thinks he might like to grow old with someone like that.

The air is warm and humid. The sun shines brightly over head and no clouds dare steak across the sky to interrupt the blue. A day he could imagine BlackHat growling over. The thought was nearly amusing. He never understood how BlackHat couldn't sit and appreciate perfect days like these for even a moment. Though, he supposes, he's been around long enough to see enough of these to get bored. _Fuck- Stop thinking that_.

He nearly knocks into Cäcilie's back when she stops. Taking a few steps back he realizes she's stopped at the side of the road to pick a dandelion from a crack in the sidewalk. He watches her stand back up and turn the flower in-between her fingers. She looks back up, blue piercing into his soul and pinning him in place.

"What are you trying to do?" She asks. He blinks in surprise at the question before his face scrunches up in confusion.

"What?" Carefully she plucks a petal from the flower and flicks it away.

"What are you trying to do? What do you think theses questions are going to get you?" She asks and rips two more off. Inside his chest something tightens uncomfortably. Once more he tries to crack his knuckles as he thinks of a response.

"Aren't you worried? I don't want to just sit here and rely on people anymore. If I have to go out on my own I'm going to finally be my own person." He says. She'd been the one to force him on the bus. If she didn't want him prodding around she should have left him.

"I am worried!" She snaps and rips off half of the petals. After a silent moment her shoulders slump and a loud exhales escapes her. "I'm fucking terrified, Flug. I want to go back to the life I had as a kid. I want to live without worrying I'm going to be mauled for stepping out of line. You don't survive by asking questions, you take what comes at you with a smile and go on. If you keep asking questions you're going to get hurt."

"I've been hurt by not asking questions. I've been hurt by asking questions. Everything hurts us. We're _humans_ , Cäcilie. We're the weakest species, _our own species_ takes advantage of us. Everyone is happy to pull the wool over our eyes and lead us to slaughter. I'm tired of it. Isn't it time to take control?" The flower falls from her hand, all petals ripped off. She glares down at it as if it had ripped its own petals from its body.

"I don't want you to get hurt. If something happens, I don't want to be alone." She says, barely over a whisper. Her voice is nearly drowned out by a man yelling from down the street.

"I'm not going to get hurt." He says and gently takes her hand in-between his. It's a promise he can't keep. They both know it. But it makes them feel better.

* * *

It's dark. It's always dark down there. Cold, too. It's always been this way. The smell of blood only gets stronger every Monday. The whip is carefully wrapped around his forearm, key in hand and rosary around his neck. One of them notices the light from the opening doors and makes an alarmed noise. It'd probably Boutaye, he'd forgotten how to speak months ago.

His alarm sets off Đoàn as always. She calls for her father in Vietnamese. Her bony fingers reach out for the bars of her cage as if searching for him. It's a sad sound, listening to Boutaye and Đoàn call for a people that put them here. His fingers search for the light switch beside the door. A hand is on his right leg, searching in the darkness for him. They flicker on with a loud buzz and he has to stop at the sight in front of him.

He had seen it millions of times. Every Monday by now. But it still scared him. Carefully he takes the hand from his leg and sets it back on the mattress before moving to the center of the room. Unwinding the whip around his arm he stares over at the dog cage and the figure hunched inside it. He was getting to big for his containment but they couldn't move him to a bigger one without someone getting hurt.

"Giáo hoàng?" Đoàn calls again only to be met with silence. He wouldn't cry this time. He'd do what he needed to without breaking down this time. "Giáo hoàng?!" She cries as he tightens his hold on the whip. _He wouldn't cry_.

* * *

 A scream pierces the silence. Flug jolts awake and tumbles from his bed. In the bed beside his Cäcilie is up right in her bed, holding her head. Her breathing is loud and raspy as she rocks back and forth. Untangling himself from his covers he sits up and carefully touches her knee. She flinches and snaps her head over to look at her. Teary eyes meet his for a brief moment before she's on the floor with him, grabbing him into a tight hug.

He's frozen in surprise before he places a hand on the back of her head and the other around her waist. She sobs into his shoulder, saturating the material of his shirt. Nails dig into his back, holding on as if she might float away if she let go. In an attempt to quiet her down he rakes his fingers through her hair and shushes her gently. The effort seems to work after a minute as her tears turns to silent trembles and her chest just heaves silently.

He holds her silently for a minute longer, tangling his fingers in her hair and brushing them out again. Thinking back to what 5.0.5 would do he scoops her up into his arms and shakily stands. Placing her down on her bed he peels her fingers off him and grabs the thick blanket bunched up on the floor. Wrapping it around her and tucking it under her chin he stands up straight.

"I'll get you some water, okay?" He whispers, brushing hair from her sticky face. Pale blue eyes stare up at him, glassy and pleading. "I'll only be a minute. Just down stairs and in the kitchen. Is that okay?" She stares for another few seconds before her vison flicks downwards and she shakes her head.  On his way down he holds his breath and relaxes once he reaches the ground floor without a stair squeaking. The living room is eerie in the dark, the shadows meld together to make large black pits that seem to harbor something they shouldn't.

The kitchen isn't any better, the hum of the fridge sets his imagination off and he nearly drops the cup into the sink as he's reaching for the faucet. Filling the cup up most of the way he's about to turn around when a hand closes around his mouth and another moves the glass from his fingers. Against his back is a chest, and for a moment he's back in Tšernobog's manor, arm hovering above bright red coils. The fear renders him useless, it stills his whole body so that he's at the mercy of whoever is behind him.

"Listen and be quiet, Slys." Berith murmurs into his ear, his nails dig into his cheek. "We wouldn't want to distress the little lady upstairs anymore, would we?" He waits for him to slowly shake his head before chuckling. "Good. Now, since our little, _talk_ , I've been thinking. What to do with you? That demon's still has his claws in you, and I'm sure Esther would love to know her work is yet to be done." Flug wants to speak, to protest or push away from him. But whatever he had done held his lips closed and kept him in place. All he had to do was listen and be quiet. He imagines screaming, imagines Cäcilie running down to help, imagines himself jolting awake in his room back in America. When he opens his eyes again he's still standing there, staring at the faucet.

"Now, go back to Cäcilie and don't talk about this to anyone." He instructs before stepping back. The skin his hand had been clamped over was suddenly cold. Flug grabs the cup with shaking hands and turns. He can feel his eyes on the back of his head and the shadows seem to nearly bulge out and reach for him. He takes the cup upstairs and carefully places it into Cäcilie's hands. She takes long gulps and finishes it rather quickly.

"There, feeling any better?" He asks and brushing a stray tear with one of his knuckles. She gives a sad smile and nods up at him. Slipping the cup from her hands he places it onto the night stand and nudges her onto her side. "Here, I'll read to you until you fall asleep again."

* * *

 Flug's scent was strong here. It led right into the bookstore. It was recent, more recent than inside the manor. Of course, the human's inferior nose didn't quite pick up on the subtle intricacies of his human's smell. In fact, they couldn't smell it at all. A surge of jealousy shoots through his chest at the thought of anyone else being the one to fully savor his scent. The door chimes as it opens. The bell attached above chimes merrily once again as the door swings closed behind him. Flug's scent was meddled with various other humans, some more recent and threatening to erase his human's comforting smell. It led towards the counter and he followed his footsteps carefully. Leaning over, almost as if his human would be just sitting on the other side. Of course he wasn't there but his scent was stronger back here.

"Oh, greetings." A soft voice greets him. He turns his head a little too sharply to look at the person. The first thing he notices is the scar that interrupts the smoothness of his skin to tear down from his eyebrow to collarbone. Tucked underneath an arm was a stack of books, in the opposite hand was a cracked phone. "Do you seek freedom?" He asks and sets the books down on top of the counter.

If he was in any other form and hadn't used a majority of his energy just getting to this damn town he would have leaped from his puppet and demanded for his human. But as a subject to inferior human anatomy and low energy, he had to comply with whatever was currently being thrown his way. Nodding towards the man he rests his hands on the counter and watches as he casts a glance out into the empty store before turning towards a small bookcase.

He pulls it forwards with relative ease despite the numerous volumes to reveal a door barely shorter than the bookcase. From his back pocket he pulls a key and unlocks the door. BlackHat rounds the counter as the man looks back at him and motions towards the dim staircase. Something nervous stirs in his puppet's brain, the human's instinctive fear of the dark and unknown. He silences it immediately, annoyed he had to keep at least the brain and heart alive so his puppet wouldn't begin to decompose.

He descends the stairs, hand trailing along the railing. The man follows behind him, closing the door and locking it behind them. At the bottom is another door, light peeking through the cracks. On the other side is a feminine laugh followed by a small clatter. The man brushes past him and opens the door for him. On the other side is a compact apartment, two people stood in a mock kitchen over a pile of dishes. One looks over at him, their scent one of a marked human. Instinctively he wants to avoid them, go back up to the first floor and respect another demon's claim. But no demon's scent was near. They must have ran away.

"Another one so soon?" A woman asks. Her prosthetic leg clicking loudly when it moves. The noise is grating to hear, almost pushing him to tear her head off then. But once again, he's limited by his puppet's inferior anatomy.

"That manor must have been filled with servants." The other person says, scrubbing a plate. "Who knows how many are in the forest?"

"That doesn't matter now." The man says, closing the door quietly. "I'm Theophilus, that's Tumay and Maeno. You'll be staying here for a short time while we find a place to relocate you." He says. BlackHat nods, watching him carefully.

"Have you been marked?" Maeno asks, going to walk but her leg locks up with a loud tick that grates of BlackHat's nerves. Just the mere mention of marks brought the memory of those pheromones back into his mind. They mixed hideously with the smell of his human, terrified.

"No." He manages. It takes him a moment to figure out if he'd devoured the human's vocal chords in his rampage of consuming anything and everything nonvital in his blind hunger. It takes another moment to remember he had to use them.

"Good, that makes this a hell of a lot easier." Tumay chuckles and sets the plate they'd been working on into the other side of the ink to be rinsed. Though, Maeno wasn't exactly participating in her portion at the moment. "We can get you relocated sooner without having to make sure no permanent marks are infected." They grab a bowl and running it under the water before beginning to clean.

 His human's scent was down here. These people spoke of freedom, relocation and marks. What would he be doing with people like these? Obvious runaways to still living masters. He'd been very meticulous to not divulge too much information to his human about the marking process. Lest it got him interested or gave himself any ideas. Had they told him things he hadn't? Had they relocated his human? Under better circumstances he would have laughed as he tortured his human's whereabouts from them. Would have taken hours as he pulled every bone and drop of blood from their bodies, only allowing them to die when his hunger was satisfied and energy replenished.

"You must be hungry," Theophilus says, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him towards a dining table. "Take a seat and I'll see what I can make while they finish up." He says and moves towards the small fridge. BlackHat drops his puppet rather unceremoniously into the chair, too tired to care for proper charades and sitting nicely. It certainly took less energy to guide this shell of a human around. About as much as just laying and staring up at the ceiling, occasionally kicking a leg or throwing your arms about. A free meal wouldn't hinder his recovery in the slightest. Even if it was human food and he currently didn't posses a stomach.

He'd make do.

Soon, Theophilus sets a large bowl of grapes in front of him. The three had been talking, he just hadn't cared enough to listen. The human barely has time to move his hand away before he's forcing the berries into his mouth. He hears a surprised, half suppressed laugh beside him but chooses to neglect looking over in favor of swallowing whole grapes, forgetting he had to chew in his hurry for nutrients and having something more to eat. By the time he finished and looked up the two were nearly done with the dishes. Tumay passing over the last plate and beginning work on the silverware. Maeno looks over at him, holding eye contact for what might have been a moment too long.

"We're assuming you're from that manor up near the mountain." She says. He stares back at her and gives a curt nod. Turning back around to rinse off the utensils she gives a small scoff. "We already had one warn us there would be more of you guys coming down." She says.

"The spell broke when it died." He says and straightens his puppets spine to sit up correctly. He was having enough time keeping the three pounds of muscle atop this skinny neck upright, now he needed the fret over hunching as well.

"Your master?" Tumay asks. He nearly lunges for their throat. _No one_ will ever be his master. And to even think so was a grave insult. He simply tightened his fists on his lap and adverted his gaze to their moving hands, trying to calm himself. The faint lingering of his human's scent helps greatly.

"Yes." He growls out. The force in which it took to utter those two words physically hurt his throat.

"Do you know the other demon?" Maeno asks, not bothering to turn around again. Tumay, however, was finished with their portion of the work and was leaning against the counter and watching him.

"There was another one?" He asks. Tumay's eyebrows raise in interest.

"A couple kilometers away from you manor your master was killed by another, greater demon." They say. He wants to laugh and gloat that it was him. That _he_ was the one that mauled _him_ for daring to touch his human. That he loved the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath his paws.

"No one at the manor really knows what happened. Just that we could leave." He says. Their expression becomes a bit more sympathetic at this. The door leading into the apartment opens and Theophilus walks back in, phone against his ear. His eyebrows scrunch together, making his scar bend in an odd way.

"No, it's okay. Thank you." He mutters into the device before lowering it from his ear and sighing. "No luck." He says and looks over at Tumay. They give him a sympathetic smile.

"We could always ask Berith if he has any extra room. Flug and Cäcilie should have had enough time to move out by now." They say. He has to tighten his grip on the chair and dig his heels into the ground to stop himself from leaping to his chair and grabbing their shoulders to demand they take him to his human. Even his name makes his puppet's heart thunder inside its chest. He's close, isn't he?

His human is soon to be in his sight. His arms. His beautiful scent will wash over him, especially so when mixed with that twinge of excitement and fear at his appearance. Once he's back with his human he'll take him back home and make sure he's alright. No demons will lay their hands on him again. He'll lavish him with everything he wants. Dementia and 5.0.5 don't even matter in his mind at this moment. He just wants to be home watch his human balance two projects at once again as he lurks in the shadows.

"Are you alright, sir?" Tumay asks, cutting his train of thought off. "You've zoned out." They say and wag their fingers in front of his face. He leans back with a scowl.

"I'm perfectly fine. Just recognized the name." He mutters.

"Call him up then. Better to get him moving if that other demon is still lurking about." Maeno urges. Theophilus nods and turns his back towards the rest of them. His phone raises back to his ear after typing something out.

"Berith? My apologizes about the time." He pauses. "No, we're quite alright. Someone came down from the forest." Another pause, he shakes his head and rests a hand on his hip. "Yeah, no I understand. If you don't have room will the church?" He asks. This simply wouldn't do. While he wouldn't burst into flames if he did enter a holy building—that only happened to lesser demons, who physical forms were already weak—his powers ceased to function. He was reduced to the blundering uselessness of a human.

"He left already?" Theophilus asks. "No that's fine. Did they say where he went? No? Well, would you be willing to take him in?" He desperately hoped he wasn't speaking about his human. He was so close to being able to touch him again be. If he had to jump through another hurtle to get to him all semblance of whatever humanity had had would be torn form his claws until he saw him again. "Great, thank you." He says and lowers the device from his ear.

"Mr.-" He pauses, realizing he had never caught his name.

"Jefecito." He says without much thought.

"Mr. Jefecito, we have a few friends near the Swedish border that is willing to take you in for a short while." He says, tucking the phone into his back pocket. "They'll be housing you before arranging you a new home." BlackHat nods as if he actually cared. "If you'd like you can take one of the beds in the back room, tomorrow afternoon I'll be joining you to meet Berith. He'll be offering you a room while you're there."

BlackHat stands, nearly tipping back into the chair, and nods once again to show he understood what he was being told. Human vocal chords were a discomfort to use, and  speaking a language he had neglected to learn since its birth was tiresome. Slowly, he makes his way into the back room. Three beds were spread out across the room. One smelled of Maeno, another of Theophilus and Tumay, the third of the woman from the bar. His human's scent didn't work its way into this room and it made him want to turn back around and sit on that couch in the main room.

He would have all the time once his human was returned to him to sit and admire his human's scent. Now, however, he needed to regain as much energy as possible. The lavaliere hung around his throat feels as though it pulsates with some sort of energy as he lays down atop the covers. Rather reluctantly, he sprawls out on his back and stares up at the ceiling, thoughts of his human filling his mind until his puppet's body dozed off and he came to rest in turn.


	12. Keller

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mega angst warning. Also, a lot of blood, gore/body horror and violence in this one. And, uh, another warning, maggots in open wounds are present near the middle of this chapter, just a brief mention but be aware if that squicks you out, and some trypophobia  
> This is a monster of a chapter at 8,481 words, so buckle in friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> agagagaagag, October is the month my muse bursts into my room and hands over all the creativity he's been hoarding the entire year. Not only do I want to write all the time I just caME UP WITH MORE PAPERHAT STORY IDEAS AGAGAGAGAGAG

It was a quiet Saturday morning. The week prior had gone by painstakingly slow. The stress of being unable to relay what had happened that one morning leaving his nerved shot and him on edge the entire week. Last night had been the first night Flug had managed to squeeze in a whole night's sleep after passing out while reading. He was even exhausted enough to not stir when the sound of three pairs of shoes worked their way up the stairs to the loft. It's not until he's being hauled from under the covers and pressed against the ground that he wakes. His scream as his arms are forced behind his back startles Cäcilie awake. She jolts up as Flug squirms beneath whoever has him pinned. For a moment he thinks he can hear her call his name but his mind is muddy and focusing on the sensation of something closing around his wrists.

"Get off him!" She yells and leaps off her bed.

"Sit." Berith demands as she reaches to grab at the person. Flug's hauled to his feet and shakes his hair from his face, his nose and forehead throbbed where it had hit the ground and his chest ached. Turning his head he can see a panicked looking Cäcilie sat on the edge of her bed. Her hands curled into white knuckled fists and her legs jerk as if she's attempting to stand but her body won't move. Stood just behind him is the Father, a vicious scowl on his face.

"We must move the demon quickly, who know if its tainted her soul." He says. Demon? Flug's mind draws a blank; they couldn't be talking about him- could they? He wasn't a demon, he was a human!

"What- No! Wait-" He struggles against the Father's hold, shaking his head. "I'm not-" Suddenly there's a hand in his hair and his head is yanked to the side and forced to face the Father's. There's an evil gleam in his eye, one that knows no mercy and hungers for power.

"Listen here, foul beast. You will keep your mouth shut until we reach the church or else I will make your exorcism even more painful." He looks over to Cäcilie for help, but whatever command had been placed on her was still in effect. Berith just watched from the top stair, arms crossed and looking rather bored. Esther looked just as thrilled by the whole thing as the Father did.

"I'm not a demon!" He's nearly yelling, desperate to be believed. The Father pays this no mind and shoves him towards the stairs. Berith moves out of the way, moving to stand beside Cäcilie. He stumbles and catches himself before he can fall down the stairs, turning back around he tries to reason with them again, he opens his mouth to tell them about the cleansing, his red blood, the cross necklace he was still wearing. But the Father grabs him by his curls again and hauls him downstairs.

"Flug!" Cäcilie yells, still trapped on her bed. "Let him go! _What are you doing_?! You've all gone _insane_!"

"Silence!" Berith's voice booms through the whole house and forces both their mouths closed. He trips on the last step and crashes into the Father's shoulder. For this he's rewarded with a hard tug on his hair that sends him to his knees and choking down a silent whimper. Esther's dress flows around her ankles as she steps past his kneeling form and stops in front of him. He stares at the pointed toes of her yellow heels, trying to think of a way to get out of this, to make them see reason or get away to the market just down the street. Someone would see him and help.

"Ajah will be in by the time we get there." She says, lightly batting the Father's hand away from his hair. It takes a moment for him to get his fingers free but Flug nearly sighs at the relief spreading through his scalp with nothing pulling on it. Though it only lasts a moment before the handcuffs are grabbed and his arms are pulled up in a way they shouldn't be. His mouth opens in a silence yelp as he quickly stands to stop the pain.

"The boy wont stop us, he's a coward." The Father replies and follows as Esther begins to push Flug towards the front door. She hums quietly and stops when she feels Flug resisting, trying to dig his heels into the floor but his socks offer no traction to slow them.

"Yes," She starts. Flug attempts to wrench his arm free, Esther's grip loosens for a moment before her nails are digging into his skin and her other hand is on the back of his neck, forcing him back onto his knees. "But he could make sure the demon doesn't get away while we make him room." She says, getting a better hold on his neck.

"We could always just lock him in a room until we're ready." The Father says and walks around the two of them to open the front door. Once it's open and the Father steps outside Esther pulls him back up to his feet by his neck and makes him continue forwards. Just before he's pushed through the threshold of the door he looks back up at the loft, stood behind the balcony is Berith. His face is neutral, indifferent, but he sends him a mocking wave as he stumbles outside.

 "Best too put that boy to work." She says, letting the Father grab him by the elbow and pull him towards the car. "Keeps his mind busy."

"He has been thinking a lot recently." He agrees and opens the back door of the car.

"I think he's getting ideas." She rounds in front of the car and takes a seat in the passenger's side. The Father shoves him head first into the back seats, barely giving him time to pull his feet inside before slamming the door. He pops the driver's door open and slides inside, twisting the keys in the ignition. "Ka'apeha might be giving him ideas again." Her eyes fall closed and a look of annoyance crosses her features as she pulls the seatbelt across herself.

The Father grunts but doesn't say anything further. The car backs out of the driveway jerkily, sending Flug lurching forwards in his seat just as he's trying to sit up. His impact with the back of the passenger's seat sets his goggles askew. Quickly he fixes himself and looks around the back seats, the two storage pockets on the back of the fronts seats were empty, and nothing. Leaning back against the door he works his wrists underneath himself. It takes a moment of struggling to push his arms past his hips and when he does he knees himself in the goggles, pushing them even further to the side. But after that it's much easier to slip his leg in-between the gap in his arms.

Looking around again he reaches his hands into the storage pocket and comes back with nothing but receipts. Sitting back he looks up and silently panics once he notices they're pulling up into the church's parking lot. Sitting back into the seat he watches as Esther and the Father step out from the car. Esther opens the door beside him and pulls him out by his elbow. He stumbles but quickly corrects himself and follows her towards the church.

As the Father opens the doors he can feel whatever force that had sealed his lips being lifted. Digging his heels into the ground again he tries again to free himself, twisting his chest and kicking at her ankles as she tries to pull him inside. For a moment she wobbles at his blow but regains her balance just as quickly and grabs a handful of curls near his ear and forces his head down. A scream escapes him as his whole body lurches forwards. The doors close loudly behind them and he's going face first towards the floor, landing haphazardly. He takes a moment to register what happened, and when he does he attempts to stand, to run, reason with them, anything. But his plan is thwarted when one of her heels presses down on the back of his head, pressing his goggles into his skin and his face into the tile floor.

"What did I say, Demon? We would expel you." The father sounds as if he's gloating. "You will exit this man and return his soul to the light." Slowly, the man moves, voice sounding closer as he kneels in front of him.

" _Fuck you_!" Flug yells into the ground. "Fuck you! I wanted to trust you!" Esther's heel lifts off his head, instead it's replaced with the Father's hand squeezing on his jaw, forcing him to look him in the eye.

"Demons have no place here, foul beast. We have seen what you've done to this man. You've made him desire a life of sin and torment and we will purge those sinful desires from him and kill you." The Father's look is evil. Full of sinful pride and a vicious need to inflict pain.

Disgust fills his chest. Disgust at himself and the Father. How could he allow himself to have his guard down enough for this to happen? How could they parade around, pretending to help people and pull something like _this_?! With a glare he spits on the Father's face. He reels back, disgust and surprise replacing his rancorous look. Taking the chance to use his shock as a distraction he goes to run again when the Father grabs his neck and smashes his face against an arm of a pew. Something inside his nose crunches and the sound he makes is that of a kicked dog. The pain spreads through his entire face, sending tears to his eyes. He curls up on himself, cradling his nose in his hands.

"Ajah!" The Father yells. There is a quiet clatter from the direction of the bathroom. "Get over here, abomination!" His voice echoes from the walls like they do in his sermons.

"Yes, Father?" Came Ajah's meek voice, quiet footsteps approach and stop suddenly. Flug is abruptly grabbed by the arm just below his elbow and hauled back to his feet. His hands fall from his face and his eyes find an equally dolorous looking Ajah. Hastily, he adverts his gaze again and focuses on his white knuckled, shaking fists.

"Take this creature up to my study while I make him room downstairs." He orders and shoves him into his chest. Grabbing onto his robes to steady himself, he can feel him tense beneath him and hears his shaky intake of air.

"Yes, Father." He says and gently takes Flug by the wrist, leading him towards the back rooms. He follows without resistance, head hung low. Esther speaks once the door to the back room is closed. Flug pauses, head turning slightly towards the large window. Could he slip out? Run far enough to have time to get free from the cuffs and escape? Ajah gives his arm a gentle tug and gently shakes his head. With a sigh he continues to follow him upstairs.

Once the door is opened he brushes past Ajah and collapses into the old couch, hiding his face in his hands. How had the day gone so wrong so fast? Why him? Why did the world feel the absolute _need_ to continue to torture him? This was worse than the emotional whiplash of just being in the same area of Dementia and BlackHat. The door clicks closed and makes a quiet noise as something leans against it. Looking up from his palms he sends a glare towards Ajah, mustering all the hate he's ever felt in his life into his eyes. Hoping it will be enough for him to leave.

" _Why are you still here_?" He rasps. Ajah gives him a doleful look, face pale and dark around the eyes barely hidden beneath his bangs.

"You're not permanently marked." He says as he pushes off the door. For a fleeting moment he flinches at the action but steels himself again. Adjusting his position so he's sitting up straighter he wipes at his nose and glares up at him. The blood on his hand doesn't surprise him.

"You think I don't know? Tell that to _them_." He says, venom dripping from his tone as his hand swings forcefully towards the door.

"You shouldn't be here. They-" He chokes on the words. "They said they would only take the dying ones." His hands twitch and he wraps his arms around his stomach. His eyes flit around the room, searching desperately for something more pleasant to land and focus on.

"What? What dying ones?" He demands. Ajah's tongue runs over his lips as his eyes return to look at his bloodied face.

"The Father takes people who have been permanently marked and tries to- save them. But all the one's he takes in those who's masters died. There's no saving them after that. They're just-" He takes in a shaky breath, trying to collect himself. "Dying. Rotting alive." Horror replaces his anger. This whole time the Father was holding people prisoner, letting them die? He'd had meals here, listened through sermons, laughed with Cäcilie. And the whole time people had been dying, rotting?! Panic fills his being as the realization hits him. That was going to be him. He wasn't marked so he would be left down there for the rest of his life. They thought he was possessed. They'd try to exercise him.

"You have to help me, _please_!" He pleads, reaching forwards and grabbing his hand. "If you know what they'll do to me you have to help me!"

"I-I can't." He looks paralyzed with consternation. "I want to, Flug. Please believe me. But if I pull something like this again they'll kill me."

"They're going to kill me!" He yells, yanking his hands back as if touching him would speed up Father and Esther. "I'm going to die and you're just going to let them kill me!" Clamming up with embarrassment and shame he stares down at Flug's blood smeared hands, face pink. The room is silence for a long minute in which the both of them wait anxiously for something to happen; be it someone speaking or someone walking in.

"I won't let them." He whispers finally, eyes brimming with tears. "I wont let them kill you." His voice cracks and his arms tremble as he hugs himself. Flug stares at him, a hollow fear nestling deep in his chest. He believes him. He really shouldn't—but he does. But if he was the one person there to protect him he wasn't sure how long he would last. "I'm so sorry, Flug. I should have warned the two of you. I should have protected you. But I was scared and now it's too late for the both of us." He sniffles, wiping frantically at his face. "Now it's my fault that you're going down there and they'll make me be the one to exercise you." The idea terrifies him, having to hurt someone he should have been protecting.

The door opens and Ajah promptly turns away, using his sleeve to wipe his face dry quickly before turning towards the Father. The man moves silently, sending a glare towards Ajah before grabbing Flug by the elbow and pulling him onto his feet. He manages to pull his arm free easily enough and takes a step back away from the Father.

"I can walk on my own." He says coldly. The Father stares at him for a long moment before looking towards Ajah again and giving him an accusatory look.

"Make sure he follows." He instructs before turning and heading back down the stairs. Flug tried to meet eyes with him again but he just gently touches his shoulder and stares down at the floor. With no other options he follows after the Father down the stairs and into the main room. Ajah is at his heels, as quiet as when they first met. He's mildly surprised to find they're exiting the church and rounding the corner. However, when he spots the cellar doors wide open his heart drops even further in his chest. He stops mid-step when an alarming sound comes from the depths of the darkness. It sounded like a yowling cat, or the noises Tšernobog had made before dying.

Ajah urges him forward again, a hand on the small of his back gives a gentle push towards the doors. He nearly pushes back and gives running another attempt. They were outside now, Ajah wouldn't do anything, the Father's back is turned. It would be so easy. The Father turns towards him and he can feel his hope shrivel in his chest. He pushes him by his shoulder towards the door. In a panic he tries to dig his heels into the dirt so he wouldn't fall. It doesn't work and he falls head-first down the stairs into the darkness. He only stops when there's no more stairs and he slams into a wall. A pitiful groan escapes him and he curls up more on himself, bound hands coming up to hold the back of his head. Pain pulsates through his entire body, promising future bruises. Two sets of shoes follow his descent, though much slower. A foot jabs at his side harshly making him flinch away and curl up further.

"Stand up." The Father demands, probing at him with his foot again. He thinks about staying there. Just ignoring him and keeping like this until the pain subsided. But another, more forceful, prod has him sitting up and using the wall to help him stand. The Father scoffs at him and turns to unlock a second door. Ajah offers his arm subtly to help him keep on his feet, which Flug thankfully takes.

The light from above invades the room quickly. It sets off another inhuman whimper that chills Flug to the core and has Ajah's muscles tense underneath his hand. The Father leads them into the room and flicks on the lights. Flug nearly collapses from the smell alone. All around the room were dirtied mattresses and old dog cages. The cement floors were stained with something dark that splattered across the walls. Even worse, there were grotesque mockeries of humans on each mattress or in each cage.

One mattress to the left of the door, pressed into a corner was an emaciated man who's skinned peeled back in some places and sharp fragments of what appears to be bones protrude from them. Directly to the right was another mattress with a woman laid on her back, head leaning against the wall. Across her whole body—that wasn't covered in threadbare clothes—was tiny clusters of holes that cut clean through her entire body. A certain cluster laid across her throat. Beside her sat a swarthy woman on a black stained mattress, who's neck ended in a rounded, bloody stump that positively gushed with blood. Her chest sways slightly as her hands gripped onto her elbows.

In the far right corner sat a rusty dog cage, crammed inside was a young looking male. He peers through the bars miserably, the skin beneath his eyes bloody and rotten. Bismuth glitters in the muted light, it's poking out from beneath his skin, coated in blood. Another cage, next to a closed door and beside the other, held a woman. Her arms were unproportionable compared to the rest of her body. From her sockets hung her eyes that she had to physically hold up to see them.

In the far left corner was a third cage which at first glance seemed to hold a tiger instead of a person. But no, that was a man, crouched in a predatory way, the lower half of his face formed into a large muzzle covered in black and orange striped fur. His hands were gross mixtures of a human's and tiger paws that ended in long claws. Next to him, along the left wall was another mattress was a girl who was in a similar predicament to the first person. Instead of bone, steel spikes protrude from her skin, varying in size and frequency in clusters around joints. From her eyes is a near steady flow of crimson tears.

Along the top wall is one mattress is a pallid woman, who's singular head holds two faces, and left arm splits into two different arms from the elbow. Her three eyes find him in the dim lighting and he feels them like cold fingers pressed into his skin. One final cage sits beside her, on the other side of the closed door. Inside sits a tiny, emaciated woman. Her eyes had melted from their sockets and sat as sludge on her face. Her skin was the most rotted out of all of them, and she was laid out pitifully in her cage.

The Father continues into the room, unbothered. Flug tries to follow him but his knees wobble beneath him and his feet refuse to move from place. Bile rises in his throat that he has to swallow down and adverts his gaze to the ceiling, which is thankfully void of any blood stains. Ajah has to urge him forward again and practically drags him towards the closed door. A growl follows him from the tiger-man in the cage as he moves past him. The tiniest woman calls something in a language he doesn't know, sounding just as desperate and hopeless as he feels.

The door opens with a loud squeal. On the other side was a surprisingly clean bathroom, save for the mattress and bloody body in the corner. He watches for any signs of movement, any stirring, any rise and fall of breath. _Nothing_. Slumped against the wall was conjoined twins, connected at the shoulder and hip. The twin on the left was a woman, the right a male. Maggots squirmed along their open wounds, crawling in and out in a leisurely pace.

He presses his back against Ajah's chest, trying to get away. It still wasn't too late to run. He could catch them off guard and maybe get up to the surface again. He could find help. Maybe Cäcilie had escaped from Berith and was looking for him. Sucking in a ragged breath he turns and pushes past Ajah and runs towards the door again. He nearly slips on a puddle of blood and crash into the woman covered in holes but manages to get through the doorway. He can hear the Father yelling and the tiger-man growling behind him as he stumbles up the stairs.

As he makes it to the top a deranged sort of giggle escapes him. Without even looking around he runs towards the front of the church, in the direction of the market. He's free. The air brushes against his skin and through his hair as he runs. The dirt is soft beneath his feet, grass damp with morning dew. For a moment he can't feel his forming bruises or the handcuffs rubbing his wrists raw. And then he's being slammed against the ground, getting a mouthful of dirt. He's barely given time to recover before he's being pulled up by his arms and towards the church again.

His legs give out underneath him and it feels like his heart stops in his chest. A coldness spreads through his body as all his muscles relax. An odd calmness passes over him as he expects to die then and there. Would have accepted it too, been happy about it. The hand on his wrist just tightens instead and continues to pull. Humiliated, he tries to stand again but falls forward and catches himself with his free hand. The sob shakes his entire chest, it hurts his throat to hold it down, to try and not let them win.

They give another tug on his arm and he tries again to stand. This time he manages to stand on his feet, though his knees tremble violently beneath him and he can barely take a step. He doesn't want to go back down. He _can't_. They'll kill him. They'll torture him like what they did to all those people down there. He'll be that body in the bathroom. Dead, alone, uncared for. He'll be just another traumatic memory in Ajah's mind, and the disappearing friend Cäcilie had tried to save. It can't end here. He's survived for _so long_. Through his family, the plane crash, BlackHat's temperament, the auction, the manor. Wasn't that _enough_? Why this?! Why did it _always_ get worse?!

 He looks up at who is pulling him, it's Esther, not even looking at him. Instead staring out at the road to ensure no one was out to see this. Slowly he takes the first step down back into the cellar and the first tear slips. This step seals his fate, put the stamp on his fate saying 'This is where you die'. His heart clenches in his chest as he makes his way down, Esther closing the cellar doors behind them, plunging the staircase into darkness. The only light coming from the cellar. As he enters the threshold into the cellar again he nearly falls back to his knees. Ajah is quick at his side however and holds him up. He sends a glare to Esther, who stares back just as confidently. They're silent for a moment before Ajah speaks.

"You _know_ he shouldn't be down here." He says, face red with anger. "He's not marked like them. He's not dying. You promised me you would stop! That you wouldn't hold anymore people." Suddenly Flug has nothing to lean on and Esther is backing Ajah up towards the cage holding the tiger-man, her hand wrapped firmly around his throat.

"You don't make any calls here, demon. You stopped being trustworthy the moment we found out what you really are. Filth like you should not speak like that. You're subhuman and don't think I wont hesitate to feed you to Boutaye and kill _all_ your pathetic cronies." She hisses, backing him dangerously close to the cage. Inside Boutaye growls a warning and arches his back.

"I- I'm sorry, Ma'am. I didn't mean it, really. I let my mark get to me. You and the Father have provided so much for me and I should be grateful." He sputters, close to tears. His hands grip onto his robes, bunching them up in his fists. "You've never lied to me, for a woman of God never would. You've never hurt me because He has instructed his followers not to. You've provided me with a home and meals, just as He would." This appeases her for the time being and she releases his neck.

"Take him to his place in the bathroom. I'll deal with you later." She says, stepping back. Ajah practically leaps away from Boutaye's cage and makes his way over to Flug and gently takes him by the arm. Carefully, he leads him around the mattresses and cages back into the bathroom. The smell of rot and blood hits him again and he nearly gags. The Father is waiting for them, looking rather displeased as he holds shackles connected by a chain in one hand. He grabs Flug by the wrist and forces him to sit on the tile floor beside the sink, pressing his back against a cabinet. One shackle goes around his ankle and the other closes around a pipe holding the sink into the wall. The Father steps back and stares down at him with a vitriolic look before directing his gaze towards Ajah, who physically shrinks away. He grabs him by the front of his robes, stepping closer to be in his face.

"Get back to work upstairs. You're on thin ice now." He sneers before pushing him away and leaving the bathroom. Ajah stares at the door for a moment and regains control of his breath.

"They're going to kill me." Flug whimpers, staring down at the metal circling his ankle. He gives him an alarmed look and kneels down beside him.

"I wont let them. I promise." He takes him by the shoulder, trying to give him some of his hope.

"Look what they did to them!" A hand bumps his off his shoulder before flicking towards the door. A melancholy look passes over his features as he sits back on his heels and rests his hands on his lap.

"They'd be like this regardless." He says quietly. "Their masters are dead. They were marked, soul partially absorbed, and now they are left to just deteriorate." His words grow quieter as he continues. His head hanging low and bangs hiding his features from sight. "This is what happens when part of your soul dies, the rest of it thinks it's dying too and forces an otherwise perfectly healthy body to catch up. Blažena, the girl with the metal spikes, is _twelve_. She was sold to a vampire and they marked her and tossed her out after learning she's nonverbal. Now she's going to die a slow and painful death because some demon was greedy enough to pay millions for a child." His fists clench in his lap. "The twins weren't born like that either." He nearly glances over to the dead body slumped in the corner but catches himself. "Their master marked them on the same night. When she died their souls searched for the closest thing that was itself to make it whole again. Which happened to be each other. Their bodies just started, _fusing_. I had to watch them turn from scholarly teenagers to sobbing and hissing messes."

"They call you a demon." He manages to get out. With each second that passed his throat seemed to squeeze even more closed. That could be him. He could have been marked and he could be rotting alive right now. His mind brings him back to that moment in the bathroom, candlestick pressing into his spine and Tšernobog's breath against his face. "Why?"

Ajah stares at his for a long while before sighing and shaking his head. He reaches up and pushes his bangs back, revealing two extra set of eyes on his forehead. Then he carefully undoes the buttons holding his robe in place and slips it off. Across his chest was a large scar of teeth marks. Beneath his arms, connected to his ribs was another set of arms crossed over his stomach.

"I was marked when I was sixteen. I came here after escaping with a few others and hid these from the Father and Esther for about a year before they found out." He says as the other two arms flex their fingers and uncurl from around his stomach. Flug nearly yells when they move, instead shuffling back further into the wardrobe. "I'm constantly terrified of her dying, of me becoming like the others before I can give them justice." He whispers as his arms fold back neatly around himself and he slips his robes back on.

Flug simply stares as he stands and fixes his bangs to cover his bug eyes. Before he leaves he gives Flug a sad look, hand resting on the door handle. For a moment he looks like he might say something further but closes his mouth and leaves. The door squeals angrily as it closes again and he wonders if he can suffocate to death on a smell.

His mind goes fuzzy as he tugs frantically on the chain, trying to break the pipe. It doesn't budge in the slightest and his attempts become weaker, sloppier, more panicked. His breathing quickens and his heart hammers in his chest, he can feel his veins expand and contract underneath his skin. His mind supplies him with plenty of pictures of those outside this room, on their mattresses and cages and the twins just a few feet away. So much blood, the smell, the pitiful look in their eyes, the possibility of becoming one. _Oh god_ , he's going to die. He's going to die down here and only three people will know. No one can help him. They're going to kill him. They're going to kill him while he's chained to a sink like a dog.

He curls into himself, pressing his knees into his eyes and sinking his nails into his neck. He gasps desperately for air that doesn't feel like it reaches his lungs at all. Heat spreads through his whole body, leaving his skin feeling sticky. Tears soak the material of his pajama pants as his entire body trembles. Strangled cries and whimpers escape him. Soon he's accompanied by the quiet calls of the tiniest one in the cage on the other side of the wall.

 

Next thing he knew, he was waking up with a horrible pain in his neck and all over his body. His pajamas are filthy and his face feels scratchy and stiff from the tears.  Sitting up he looks down at the cuffs binding his hands and looks for anything that might serve to help him. Nothing to use as a key, or to act as a shim. He pulls his hands as far apart as he can, straightening out the chain. Wait- with such a short chain that would make the swivel a weak point if he managed to apply the right pressure.

It takes him a minute or two to twist the chain in a way that made it lock into place and applies pressure to a singular swivel rather than both of them. He presses down with all his might and even feels it begin to give under him before the chain slips. Blinking in surprise he glares at the chain before maneuvering it back into place and pressing down again. With a surprisingly loud pop the swivel gives and the cuffs break. They're still around his wrists, but now he had a lot more motion.

Choosing on focusing on getting out to keep his mind from the mortifying dread he turns his attention to the shackle around his ankle and searches the pipe for any particularly weak points. Nothing visible. Sighing, he moves to inspecting the shackle itself. It looks brand new; nothing defective about it he could use to his advantage. Standing, he walks into the shower to see how far the chain allowed him to go. He's able to touch the wall with just a little slack left.

"Hey," A quiet, hoarse whisper pervades the air. He freezes and listens for another sound. "Unmarked one." Slowly, he makes his way towards the door and peeks his head out. The main room is nearly pitch black, rendering those on mattresses vague shapes of a person that had his heart beating a little faster in his chest. "To your right." Looking over it's the woman with two faces who's looking at him, waving with the arm that only had one hand. "Scary, yeah?" She chuckles humorously and brings a hand to her faces.

"It's not you-" He starts but she waves him off with her other hands.

"It's okay, kid. I understand, not a sight for the faint of heart." She says and adjusts herself on the mattress, chains around her ankles jingling at the movement.

"Would you believe if I said I've seen worse?" He asks, leaning against the doorway. BlackHat had taken many forms in the years he was at the manor, most often more grotesque than what had been done to these people. He'd never been as affected by them as he was by these people though. With BlackHat it was just a moment of terror before everything was normal again, it was expected and normal. But with them, there was a very real threat of him becoming this. Of slowly rotting alive down here.

"No, I wouldn't." She admits with a laugh. "But that's not the reason we wanted to see you. You're not like us. You've got a whole soul. The only mark you do have is that hand on your mouth." She says. Confusion flashes over his face. Hand over his mouth? Does she mean- _Berith_? If he could make a mark then he was a demon—or at least something along those lines. But why would he hand Flug over to the church if he was a demon?

"I know." He lies. He's met with a quiet sigh from the corner of the room.

"How much do you know about them?" A startlingly low voice asks. He hesitates, kicking his shackles leg back behind him, making the chain rattle.

"They're claims and such. Just the basics and what I've gathered." He says. The slumped shadow nods, something appearing to slowly protrude further from his shoulder.

"They compel other demons to leave you alone. To respect the claim and not get too close. I feel it with everyone else, but not you. You're ripe for the pickings, to say." He says. He mulls over his words. Is that why demons always seemed so eager to try and pull something on him? To mess with an unclaimed soul? Was the allure of an unmarked soul just too alluring. Which was worrying with how often they could come in contact with unmarked humans—or humans that have never been in contact with demons before.

"He looks sad." The woman covered in holes says, voice whiny. The first woman turns her head slightly and glances over to Flug.

"Yes, Malina. He's very sad right now." She says, speaking as one would to an upset child. "So we have to be very nice to him right now because it's scary meeting new people."

"Okay!" She chirps happily, back straightening out. "Do you wanna meet my friends?" She asks, looking over to Flug. Something tightens in his throat at her puerile attitude. As if she wasn't sitting in her own blood or mutilated beyond repair. He gives a slow nod at her and her glowing golden eyes light up with elation. "That's Ka'apeha, she's like our mama." She says and points to the woman with two faces. "Nahom is over there," Her finger moves to the man in the far corner. She turns towards the girl beside her, the bleeding from her stumps seems to have let up for now. "Ishaq doesn't talk as much now, but that's okay. She still holds my hand."

"Blažena is our baby sister." She says and points to the child sat beside the Boutaye. Surprised by the mention of her name, she looks up from picking at the mattress and looks around at what's happening. A reassuring smile from Ka'apeha settles her nerves and she returns to what she had been doing. "She taught me the game sticks."

"Thank you, Malina. Our friend really appreciate you introducing everyone." Ka'apeha says, chains around her wrists jingle as she moves her hands to support her weight against the wall as she adjusts herself. Suddenly there's a stirring in the cage to the right of the door and the woman inside thrashes violently. With how thin she was it looked like it should be impossible for her to thrash and writhe so fast and fiercely. She screams something and bangs her hands against the bars and top of her cage.

The rest of the room falls silent as she screeches something horrible. Ka'apeha and Nahom stare at her sadly as Malina and Blažena cover their ears. Ishaq and the others in cages seem relatively unaffected. Though he supposes Ishaq can't hear her. Boutaye's tail thumps irritably against the bars of his cage as he stares at her. Eventually her screams become more hoarse and she slumps back down, silent. The quiet that follows is nearly heavenly.

"What-" He starts but Nahom beats him to it.

"Đoàn's father left her here. She screamed for him, its the only words she remembered." 

"Past tense?"

"When someone goes feral they- aren't who they used to be." Ka'apeha says, staring at Đoàn as she tries to regain her breath, it comes out as ragged growl and snarling sounds. "It's the same body they once had, but they aren't there anymore. Their soul has deteriorated so much it can't feed off their body anymore and just feeds on what's left of itself before dying. It makes the person revert to constant fight or flight. They're like animals." She looks over to Boutaye, watching as he stares at Flug, large eyes dilated and paws planted firmly on the bottom of his cramped cage. "There's no saving them."

He looks over at the other two in the cages. They didn't seem animalistic, or all that threatening. In fact they appeared quite docile, serene even. They'd barely even blinked while Đoàn had screamed for her father. Still, when they looked over at him through the bars of their confinements, there was something missing from their eyes. Something was unhinged or not fully there anymore. They had the same look like a stray dog might have, willing to change at the drop of a dime and inherently dangerous. Though, what Ka'apeha had said raises the question of is that what happened to the twins? The Father and Esther had just let them rot and die. Were they just letting all of them do that? There's a _twelve year old_ down here. How long do they plan to keep her here?

"It's better to not disrespect them by saying they're what happened to their body." Nahom says. He tears his eyes away from the two and nods over at the black form in the corner.

"One thing you should know-" Ka'apeha starts but her words are cut off by the sound of footsteps descending down the stairs. From the dim light he can see her alarmed face and he dives back behind his door, pushing it closed and leaving a crack to peek from. The door leading into the cellar opens and in steps the Father and Ajah. The Father is dressed in his usual sermon attire and wears a chunky rosary around his throat. Ajah is in new robes and holds a loaf of bread in one hand and a water bottle in another, four small plastic bowls tucked underneath his arm.

The Father stops in the doorway and watches as Ajah moves around the room. He breaks off bits of bread for everyone and hands it to them, holding it up for Nahom to eat. He tosses a few pieces for the ferals into their cages. One bit of bread remains and he silently looks towards the Father, motioning towards the door. He seems to think about it for a moment before nodding. Flug flings himself back into his spot and curls up on himself as Ajah approaches the door.

"I'm sorry." He whispers to him as he hands him the bread. "This is all they give." He stands back up and exits the bathroom. He shoves the bread into his mouth and chews slowly, marveling in the taste of something other than the bitter taste from waking. Carefully, he crawls back to the doorway and peeks out. Ajah holds the bottle to each of their mouths. Allowing them a few seconds to take a drink. Moving onto the ferals he fills the four bowls with a little water and carefully reaches into each cage to place it down. He crawls back into place as he slowly nudges the bowl into Boutaye's cage.

A few moments later Ajah enters and kneels in front of him. He brings the water bottle to his lips and Flug drinks what's left. Pulling back he screws the cap back on over the empty bottle. For a moment he thinks he might leave as he looks back over to the doorway. Instead, he turns back around and bends down to whisper to him again.

"Don't let him see your wrists." He says and stands back up. Flug looks down at the broken swivel and nods in silent agreement. A sudden yelp rings through the cellar and Ajah bolts out from the bathroom. Flug nearly follows him, but catches himself and creeps towards the doorway to see what had happened. The Father is holding Malina's head against the wall by her hair, bending down to sneer in her face.

"Father?" Ajah carefully approaches the situation. His head snaps up to meet his gaze and lets go of her hair. He brushes his hands against his trousers, disgust across his face.

"Back upstairs. Everyone will be arriving shortly." He says curtly and makes his way towards the door. Ajah kneels down in front of Malina and cups her face, she stares at him with glassy eyes as he murmurs something quietly to her. She cracks a sad smile as he runs his hand over her frizzy locks. Returning the smile he stands and follows the Father out, quietly closing the door behind him. Malina rubs at her eyes as an uncomfortable silence fills the room.

"Are- Are you okay?" He breaks the silence. Malina looks up and there's a new hole beneath her eye, a trickle of blood makes its way down her cheek. She gives him a shaky thumbs up before reaching over and taking Ishaq's hand. The headless body perks up in surprise but gives her hand a small squeeze. A quiet sigh comes from somewhere in the room as Boutaye laps up the water from his bowl.

"What you need to know," Ka'apeha begins again. "Is to be silent during the sermons."

"Why?"

"If you scream for help she will beat you within an inch of your life, if not kill you if someone asks him about it. She always listens for us carefully while the people are in the church."

“You’ve screamed?” She shakes her head and motions loosely towards the cage tucked into the far corner. “Sebastian did before he went feral. She cut his throat but the rocks made sure he didn’t bleed. He came down mid-sermon and took him into the bathroom. If he screamed he’d be hit harder." The man pressed against the back of his cage moves to reach his arm and grabs Ishaq's wrist. Her hand twitches but otherwise doesn't move.  

The conversation dies after that, but Flug doesn't return to his place against the cabinet. He takes a seat in the doorway, too scared to isolate himself with the twin's body. Watching them shift quietly on their bedding and entertaining themselves in their own little ways. Across the room Malina and Blažena play sticks, Ka'apeha has leant back and stares up at the ceiling, fingers tracing rough patches of fabric underneath her. Nahom busies himself with pressing the long spikes back into his shoulders and thighs.

Through the ceiling he can hear the Father's voice. Exactly what he's saying is lost but the sound alone makes him feel nauseous and hot with anger at the same time. He thinks back to all those sermons about saving the needy and treating your siblings in life with kindness no matter the differences. All _lies_. He never meant anything. Promised people to pray for them while there was people just a few feet beneath him. Suffering and rotting alive like abandoned animals.

For a minute he's angry and fidgets with the soft material of his pajama shirt. Its dirty from the grim of the floor and his fall outside. The dirt catches underneath his nails. The Father's voice continues to seep through the floor, snippets of words make their way through as he grows more passionate. Once it finishes for the week and a chorus of muddled together voices mix upstairs he shuffles back to his place and stands, looking into the grimy mirror. The blood on his face has dried and begun to flake. It didn't look like his nose was broken, it had certainly hurt like it was though. In the corner of the reflection he can see the twins shoulder. A cold trail of fear passes down his spine as he turns to look at them.

No one deserves this. To be wedged in-between a toilet and a wall in a church's cellar. To be disrespected so harshly in life and death that your body wouldn't even be laid into a more comfortable position. He just hopes when he passes they won't shove him in the shower to make more room.

Upstairs goes silent when everyone moves outside to mingle a little while longer before leaving for the week. He thinks briefly of screaming. Of taking the chance to expose the Father and Esther's sick side hobby. But Ka'apeha's words return to him and he sits instead. The wooden doors of the cabinet behind him make a thudding noise as his head falls back against it. Staring down at his cuffed wrists he forces himself to focus on the those back at the manor. How 5.0.5 was doing in his absence, if BlackHat and Dementia are treating him well. That's all he could ask for. For his kid to have a happy life even without him.

Dementia's voice through the phone invades his mind, her pissed and desperate tone. All she wanted was answers. Now she would never get them. She'd spend the rest of her long life wondering where he'd run off to while he's just _here_ , trapped. As was her nature, she'd probably assume the worst from him and brood over it a while before either forgetting or getting a new idea and going with that.

He misses the manor. All the winding halls, certain chilly spots, numerous portraits of both villains he was probably supposed to recognize and BlackHat. Even Lil' Jack, the monster that snake was. At first he was terrified of him when he was first hired. He had liked to stalk him down the halls and wrap him up late at night just for the thrill of catching him. They'd become closer after the first year or so. He didn't pounce on him anymore but still wrapped around his ankles and stomach when he wanted something.

The thought hurt his chest. Now, he just has this shackle. Really, he probably deserved this fate for all his inventions. For all the deaths he caused and the hurt he's made with his creations. Karma had let him run his little course of being evil and now she's come back and shoved his face in what he's caused, what type of suffering and behavior he's bred. The cellar remains silent for a long while. The only noises those of Boutaye's growling breaths and Malina humming some disjointed song every so often. And then the cellar door opens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P.P.S Sorry if I did absolute shit at explaining the layout of the basement. I have a map I made and hope I did a good enough job. Q-Q if anyone wants I can post a picture of my layout on my tumblr and link to it.  
> Fun Fact: I was originally going to start this chapter from Ajah's perspective but changed it cuz that would have left out a lot of context and probably revealed things too quickly lmao  
> Sorry, I just have a lot say this time idk, lol


	13. Neue Kerl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning, two torture scenes/scenes with graphic violence depicted.  
> Happy Oct. 30t! 🎃 It's almost my birthday lol

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> suffering through the angst so we may revel in the fluff later. QvQ

The click of heels approaching the bathroom door has Flug's heart hammering in his chest. His mind turn into a flurry of panic and dread. He huddles back against the cabinet, pressing his spine into the crease in-between the doors. Pulling his legs into his chest. His fingers turn white as they dig into his knees. His body anxiously jitters as the door opens with a loud squeal. Esther's hair tied up in a braided bun on the back of her head and lips painted red. She looks nice, kind even. Around her neck is a rosary decorated with white gems and thick wooden beads. In one hand is a thick bible and hung from the belt on her dress is a knife.  

"Evening, Mr. Slys. I'm assuming you're enjoying your company." She says, setting the Bible down on the corner of the sink. Looking up at him he swallows, mustering all his confidence and anger to respond.

"You're sick." He croaks. Red lips curl into a wide grin, face glowing with hubris. The beads of her rosary click together as she leans down to take his face in her hand.

"No, my dear. You're the sick one, covered in demonic marks and sinful desires." She coos, pinching his cheek. He pulls his face away, scowling at the pain in his cheek.

"The mark is from the man you're working with!" He raises his voice, the knot of anger in his chest tightening around his heart. Esther simply blinks and stands back, flipping through a few of the tabbed pages in the Bible.

"Berith? Oh, it probably is." She says. "He tends to get excited before handing your type over." She says, finger tracing over a few lines of text before moving on.

"What?" So she knew? All this talk about killing demons and she knew about one and didn't want to do anything about it?

"It's a problem he needs to work on. Temporary marks don't usually interfere with the permanent ones for our exorcisms. When we first got that headless bitch she had hand prints all over her shoulders. Hard to know where to focus on when they're covered in them instead of the one." She says and appears to find her page as she removes the tab and moves it lower down on the page.

"You're working with him?" He asks, bemused. She gives a half hearted shrug.

"I suppose if there is no other word for it. Don't confuse my words here. Alexander likes to think he's in charge but he doesn't have a good enough business mind to run this properly." She pulls the knife from it's sheath on her belt and placed it into the sink. Slipping the rosary from around her throat she places it over his head. It rests on his chest, over the first cross necklace.

"What-" He starts but Esther seems ready to begin whatever she has planned and cuts him off.

"I'll be trying something new, tell me if you like it." Her smile is mocking as she picks up the bible and kneels in front of him. She draws a cross over him with her fingers before doing the same to herself. She stands back up, grabbing the Bible and looking down at the notecard tucked into the pages. With a quiet breath she begins to recite the Litany of the Saints. There's something deeply unsettling about the confidence in her voice. Just the knowledge that this isn't the first time she's needed to use the litany in this way was unnerving. Everyone in the main room has heard this and it had done nothing to save them from what they've become.

The Litany of the Saints is long. Even if she hadn't been the only one to say it and the music had accompanied it, it would have felt just as long. Perhaps not as dread inducing if there were others accompanying her. But the length of it gave him mind ample time to wander down anxiety inducing paths. To imagine what the knife's purposes were. But, it does eventually end and her eyes seem to focus on him again, waiting for any reaction. He simply sat and stared up at her. Adrenaline coursing through his veins and he chewed on the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper. His lack of an external response doesn't deter her however, and she continues on with the same air of confidence about her. 

"I command you, unclean spirit, whoever you are, along with all your minions now attacking this servant of God, by the mysteries of the incarnation, passion, resurrection, and ascension of our Lord Jesus Christ, by the descent of the Holy Spirit, by the coming of our Lord for judgment, that you tell me by some sign your name, and the day and hour of your departure. I command you, moreover, to obey me to the letter, I who am a minister of God despite my unworthiness; nor shall you be emboldened to harm in any way this creature of God, or the bystanders, or any of their possessions." She begins, flipping to another notecard stuck into a later section of the Bible. Her eyes bore into him, waiting for that telltale squirm or aversion to the Lord. Still nothing. He disconnects their eye to stare at his knees nervously and shift his wrists more from her sight. 

"They shall lay their hands upon the sick and all will be well with them." Her hand comes down to rest atop his head. He flinches and draws back but her fingers dig into his scalp and return to place. "May Jesus, Son of Mary, Lord and Savior of the world, through the merits and intercession of His holy apostles Peter and Paul and all His saints, show you favor and mercy." She draws away and sets the book down onto the edge of the sink, picking up the blade and running her finger down it.

"I've tried the textbook way with that cat-thing and look where that got him. So, I've decided to see if a more..." She waves the knife around, searching for the appropriate term. All the while her lips twitch as she tries to suppress a larger grin. "Hands on approach." She waves the knife side to side, examining the blade with one eye closed. "If you had a permanent mark I'd liked to have tried to cut off the scarring, clean the wound with holy water and cassia oil. But you seem to be a very peculiar case." Carefully, she removes the rosary from around his neck and places it back on hers. The sharp edge of the knife ghosts over his skin. It sends goosebumps up his arms and forces the hairs on the back of his neck to stand.

"Now, don't misinterpret me, I do enjoy a good challenge. And luckily for you, we have six days of non-stop trial and error before the next sermon. It took that two faced one three weeks before it broke and told me the demon's name. I think you're weaker." She says, pressing the tip of the blade against his neck and tracing it down towards his chest. "With all you've been through these few weeks, I like to think I have a name by next Sunday."

 _She's doing this for her own pleasure_. He thinks, shifting further back into the cabinet until his spine ached and his shoulder blades were as far back as they could be. For a brief moment his brain switches to work mode. Wondering when she had stopped being truly worried—or if she ever was—and when it had turned into senseless cruelty for her own benefit. Then the blade is presses against the skin above his good eye. The blade was sharp enough to hurt without her having to press down much at all.

"I'll start out simply enough. Who's possessing you?" She asks, dragging the knife down without drawing blood. The sensation has his mind reeling and his throat tightening as his hands flatten on the ground behind him, attempting to push himself even further away.

"No one." He insists, still clinging to the small shred of hope she'd see reason, as fruitless as it was. With a 'tsk' she brings the knife back up and runs it down his skin again, pressing down just hard enough to begin to draw blood. He flinches as the knife runs through his eyebrow and stops at the middle of his cheek. Thankfully, she spared his eye and eyelid from the damage done.

"Again. Who is possessing you?" She asks, bringing the tip of the knife up to the top of the cut. Defiantly, he stares up at her, swallowing down the pain to fake the confidence he had in his answer. He knew the response he would get for his persistence, but it was the truth and he wasn't going to lie to appease her.

"No one." His response ends with a strangled whimper as the knife runs down the earlier cut again. This time harder and slower. He can feel the blood begin to run down his cheek and onto his eyelid. Despite his resistance, Esther seems entirely amused by the situation. She was perfectly content to sit there and continue until she received an answer she liked.

"Is it BlackHat? Tšernobog? Some other demon?" The knife returns to the top, resting against the skin just above the cut. The pain is hot in his skin, and pulsates in time with his pulse. "that would certainly explain why no one can locate him."

"I'm not possessed!" He yells, sharply pulling his head away from the blade. " _Listen_ to me!"

"Wrong answer." She says as she grabs his face and forces him to look at her. His features twist up in anger and he tries to pull backwards, to free his face from the unrelenting stab of her nails. No matter how hard he tries to tug away her grip doesn't loosen or falter for a moment. "I'll ask you again." She says once he's stilled once. Who is possessing you?" Her tone is firm and she stresses every word.

He thinks for a moment of just spitting out a name to get her away. To appease her. But thinks better of the idea once he realized what that sort of confession would bring him. It would confirm her idea that he was, in fact, possessed by something for missing the life he had become accustomed to. It would increase her efforts to exorcise the said demon perhaps tenfold. And would make him the center of her attention as he didn't have a time limit like all the other captives here. She could hold him here indefinitely with no real repercussions. No decay would set in, no feralization.

"You know my answer." He says after a few moments of silence. Disappointment passes over her features before she lets go of his face. He leans back and nearly raises his hands to soothe his face when he remembers he had broken his restraints and kept them at his sides.

"I do." She agrees with a curt nod. For a moment she looks like she might stand and leave. Instead, she sets the knife to the side rather carelessly and undoes the grey buttons to his shirt. He can feel his breath stop halfway into his lungs as she shoves it down his arms and picks up the blade again. "Let's see if I remember where all the big arteries are. Don't want to hit them just yet." She says more to herself than him, pointing the knife to different points on him.

The ice cold fear of dying down runs down his back like a spider crawling underneath his skin. The cut on his face throbs painfully as his eyes widen and he tries to squirm away into the corner, pressing his wrists together behind his back. She continues to go over the arteries for a moment, unperturbed by his movement before deciding she's remembered them all and grabbing his shoulder and pulling him forward. The bare skin of his chest met the tip of the knife hard enough to break skin but not push too deep in as to cause major damage. She presses it in harder and brings it down towards the scars on his stomach.

A cry of pain escapes as he instinctively shoves her away. The knife clatters to the floor as she falls back onto her hands, surprise passes over her face before her eyes land on the broken chain of his handcuffs. Her eyes harden again and she grabs the knife before he could. She raises above her and brings it down hard into his shoulder. He screams and hunches forwards, hand coming up to grab at the weapon. A hand is suddenly on the back of his head, forcing it into the ground.

Esther pulls the knife out and presses her knee to the back of his neck, pinning him effectively in place. Her breath is a little disturbed, coming out in small puffs that quickly return to normal as her eyes trace the small speckles of dots across his back and the lines of his ribs. "I was going to go easy on you." She says. "It being your first session and all." Pain traces down his spine and a squeal escapes him when she pushes down harder. "But I think you finally grew a pair and that needs to be punished."

"Fuck you." He grunts, a hand coming up to grab at his chest. The blood is warm on his palms and discomfort sprouts along the edges of the cut as his fingers press against it. Her eyes are cold as she stares down at him. Knife firmly in her grip and nails pressing into his skin. Maintaining eye contact he sits up straighter, cut in his back flaring up in irritation. "You can't do this! You're a fucking hypocrite! This isn't helping anyone, no one but you benefit from torturing a child!" She waits rather patiently for him to finish, tongue clicking as her mouth opens. Her eyes fall closed irritably. 

"Are you done?" She asks, running her hand over her head, ensuring no hair was out of place. Silence follows her question, his eyes squeezing close as he tries to push back against her foot. "Good." She says and stands, hands fixing the skirt of her dress as she does. Sitting up quickly, he rubs at his face, soothing his burning nose and shrugging his nightshirt back onto his shoulders. The smooth fabric brushes against the cuts, staining the fabric and sending jolts of pain through his skin.

She turns the tap on and holds the blade beneath the faucet. The water sputters from a moment before coming out in a steady flow. There hadn't been much blood on the blade to begin with but she seems to enjoy the movement of drying off the blade on her skirt with quick flicking motions across her thigh. Her free hands turns the water off before she returns to looming over Flug.

He glares up at her, biting down at his bottom lip anxiously. She looks him over, eyes tracing over the cut across his eye. The blood smeared around his eyelid from blinking. A satisfied smile plays on her lips and she holds her chin up a little higher. Resentment begins to grow in his chest the more he looks at her.

"I'll think of what to do with you on Wednesday." She says and goes to pat him on the head when he jerks away. Chuckling at the action she tucks the blade away into its sheath and turns back towards the sink again. She picks up the Bible and tucks it beneath her arm. Without another word she leaves, closing the door behind herself. With a sigh, his brings his hand off his chest and uses it to help himself to his feet.

Making his way towards the sink he leans against it and looks into the grimy surface of the mirror. The skin around the cut is pink and a thin trail of blood seep from the bottom of it. Hesitantly, he raises his hand to inspect it closer, poking and pulling carefully at the skin surrounding it. Hopefully it wouldn't scar. His face was mangled enough without another one to ruin the 'good' side. Moving onto his shoulder he carefully pushes his shirt aside to inspect the wound. It's bleeding a lot worse than his face and seems deeper. From first inspection he thinks—or rather hopes—that it won't need stitches. He doesn't need around round of home done, painkiller free, stitches.

Turning the water on he cups a little in his hands and brings it to his face. Hissing as it comes in contact with the broken skin. With the back of his hand he cleans the blood off his face with gently circular motions and quick swipes. Standing back up he checks himself in the mirror. The cut was still an angry red and more blood began to bead, it mixed with water that ran down his face and dripped off his chin. With a sigh he hangs his head and brings up the bottom of his shirt to dry off his face.

"You okay?" Ka'apeha's voice breaks the silence. For a moment he considers ignoring her and curling up in the shower for a nap, but he moves to the door and slowly opens it. "Geez." She says upon noticing the cut on his face. "The first session is always the prettiest."

"That's encouraging for Wednesday." He mutters and takes a seat in the doorway. Nahom chuckles quietly in the corner.

"We would help if we weren't chained like dogs." He says, rattling his chains to accentuate his point.

"I appreciate that." He says sincerely.

"You want to talk about it to get your mind off it?" Ka'apeha offers. Flug laughs quietly and nods. "Alright, you have any siblings?"

"Oh, about a dozen." He suppresses a laugh at her surprised face. "My parents fostered and adopted a lot when I was younger. I had a ton of half-siblings that stayed for a while before moving on, and just as many my parents adopted. I couldn't tell you many of their names even then. I stayed in my room too much to meet all of them properly. There was the main four of us my parents focused on though."

"Wow, I couldn't imagine being responsible for that many people even in here." She says with a sympathetic grin.

"Me neither. Most of the time I think they just let them wander around the house rather than really pay attention to them. The foster kids weren't as scrutinized as the four of us. I guess since we were biological we were the ones to carry the family name and blood."

"My father was like that." Nahom says shifting to relieve the pressure against a protruding spike. "When I was younger he wanted me to master the mbira as he had while also becoming a mathematician like my mother."

"My parents wanted me to major in chemistry and minor in biology."

"Oh wow, science man." He drawls with amusement. "You ever actually go to uni? You look young enough to probably still be thinking about it."

"I did. When I was fourteen I got in at Ludwig Maximilian University of Munich."

"Gosh!" Ka'apeha exclaims, eyebrows raised in interest. He couldn't blame her, if it wasn't his own childhood he'd be interested too. "That's amazing, Flug!" Bashful, his face goes pink at the compliment and he gives her an awkward smile. All his childhood his academic achievements were always met with expectance. He's been raised to be a genius like his parents had been, never had he really been praised for skipping most grades and getting to college so young.

"I mean- it's nothing. My parents were frankly pis-" He looks over to Malina who seems to be enthralled by the conversation and Blažena who seems to be passively listening, and stops himself. "Mad that I didn't get in the same time as my sister. Thought thirteen was prime time for higher education."

"When I was thirteen I was huffing paint and skipping family dinner for my girlfriend." Nahom says, shoulder shaking with a silent laugh. Flug chuckles quietly, silently jealous.

"What about you guys, if it's not too sensitive?" He asks, looking between Nahom and Ka'apeha. She flinches for a moment before looking over at Nahom as if silently discussing which one would go first—or if at all.

"I was a normal child." Ka'apeha says. "I lived with my uncle and did pretty average in school. I'm not smarty-pants like you or anything, but I new my times table by heart." She laughs and Flug joins in. Reveling in the relief even the light humor brought. "One time I was traveling with him and tripped on an airport escalator and cut the side of my eye open. It was my only scar for so long I bragged about it."

"I ran away at sixteen." Nahom says, smug. "Took a bag of everything valuable of mine, a bunch of food, water, and all my money and crawled out the window. I had a whole plan and everything. I was only underdressed for the weather."

"Can I ask why?"

"Oh, I was hormonal. Plus, my mom was a piece of shit." Oh, how he could relate to that.

"Nahom!" Malina gasps. He gives her an amused look and sticks his tongue out.

"I'll say it again!" He teases. She responds with a pouty glare before turning towards Ka'apeha to rectify the situation.

"Nahom," She sighs, smiling. "You know the rules." Nahom gives a impish groan and slides back against the wall. With a victorious smile Malina gives a small wiggle in place.

Flug watches the scene with a small smile. The domesticity of them despite their situation and environment warms his heart. A human's need to bond with others persevering through impending doom and torture was a wonderful thing to be witness to. They didn't care that all of them would revert to what those in the cage were, they just enjoyed each other's company while they could.

 

Wednesday came quick and slow all at the same time. With no sunlight or clocks time had never been more of an illusion to Flug. He stayed awake as long as he could for what felt like should be day, and slept the remainder of the time. There was very little to do other than speak with the others. And while he did appreciate their company and getting to know who he would be spending the rest of his life around, his brain begged for something to do. Anything would do at all really. A math equation, something broken to put back together, a chemical compound to identify.

All he had was counting the tiles on the floor and walls. He'd finished that what probably was Tuesday. He had asked Nahom for any math problems he could remember but they weren't that challenging and Malina's hardest questions were basic multiplication. The cabinet was woefully empty, and with no tools he couldn't even fidget with the hinges or mess with the pipes of the shower or sink. Though, he supposes if he did have tools he would have escaped. Still, he felt like he would kill for something to do about now.

As always, he seems to jinx himself. Just as he thought that the door to the cellar opened. His muscles tense as he sits up from his curls up position. The telltale click of heels approach the door, stopping just outside. He presses himself against the far corner of the shower, fingers digging into his knees.

"Sit properly, two-face." Esther sneers before pushing the door open. Once again she has a Bible tucked underneath her arm and knife on her hip. But today there was a small glass bottle of water in one hand and a short leather whip hung from her forearm. She sets the Bible down on the edge of the sink and sets the glass bottle on it. "I hope you don't plan on staying there the whole time."

He did; he just wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of receiving a reply. She clicks her tongue against he teeth and pops the top of the bottle of and turns towards him. The whip on her arm swaying slightly at the motion. As she approaches his muscles begin to burn with how hard he's tensing them.

"That's how it'll be then." She tuts and sprinkles the water on him. He barely feels it as it hits his shoulders and not at all as it hits the back of his head. Esther is silent for a minute and Flug holds his breath, anticipating for her to hit him. "That was anticlimactic." She mutters and steps back. "At least the kid screamed her first exorcism." What? Had she tried holy water on him?

"I'm not possessed!" He snaps, looking up at her. "Nothing you do is going to work because I'm not marked!" Wordlessly, she returns to the sink and places the bottle down. The top pops back into place quietly before she slips the whip down her arm and into her palm.

"You have a mouth on you." She says, keeping his back to him, looking over the many short tassels on the whip. He can feel his heart leap into his throat and his mind goes into a panicked flurry. "That rock man had one too." She turns towards him, face stern. "And Alexander shut him up."

"He cut his throat, that's not shutting him up that's attempted murder." She chuckles haughtily and rolls her eyes.

"It kept him quiet. He couldn't even whimper after that, it was _heaven_." Her fingers run through the black tassels of the whips as she approaches. His voice catches in his throat as his eyes carefully follow the movement of her hand holding the weapon. "You're not far enough along in your feralization to withstand that yet. But I do enjoy a good scream every once in a while. Your vocal chords are safe until I get bored of them. Maybe I'll even have Ajah do it." She teases maliciously and bends down to grab him by the shoulder. He struggles against her, pushing her hand away and scrambling back to his place in the corner.

With a scowl she draws her arm back before striking him on his injured shoulder with the whip. He tries his best to choke down the pained yelp as the scab is opened. As he's still recovering from the initial shock of the pain he's manhandled out of the shower and onto his knees, his forehead being pressed against a door of the cabinet. The tips of her fingers dig into the cut in his shoulder.

"Stay still and it'll go a lot quicker." She says and with one hand on the back of his neck the other pulls off his shirt. He grabs onto the front of his shirt, trying to keep it on as best he could. Eventually it slips from his fingers after a small tearing sound. She drops it over her shoulder and takes the handle of the whip back into her hand. He pushes back against her hand, propping his hands up on the wooden cabinet. The whip meets his skin with a loud crack and leaves large red welts along his back.

It hurts his throat to suppress the scream that tried to escape him. He wouldn't give her the satisfaction of hearing him scream. If she wanted to hear him scream she'd have to kill him for it. He was done giving into others, and no matter how petty this was, this was the one victory he could have. Nothing had been so important to him in his life. He had worked his ass off his childhood to be hear, seen. Now he would die silent. And he was proud of that. Because if she wanted him to scream and beg, she's need to _earn_ it.

Another crack and his entire body jerks with pain. He groans and swallows down a sob. It felt like fire cracks being set off on his skin. She doesn't hesitate to continue and strikes him in the same place before bringing the whip down over the cut from the last time. Half of a scream escapes before he stuffs his fingers into his mouth, pressing his nails into his tongue. As he's hit again he gags on them but doesn't scream.

Biting down on his digits he toughs another lash and bangs his head against the cabinet. The crack of the whip sounds in his ear and his body jerks at the contact but his skin, so ablaze with pain, barely feels it. Rather quickly he loose count of how many times he's been struck.

Instead he occupies his mind with other things than what's happening. He tries to recite a child's fairytale to himself. Stuttering a few times when he's hit particularly hard. Halfway through Esther's hand lifts off the back of his neck and the click of her heels meets his ears. 

"You've already learned to be quiet." Esther praises, hanging the whip off her arm from the strap. Flug doesn't move a muscle, instead staring down at his knees. He listens to her heels as she moves towards the sink. "Though, you really ought to use that voice while you still can."

The room is silent for a few moments. Flug struggles to regain his breath and slackens his jaw and letting his hand drop. With a quiet sigh Esther leaves him, not bothering to close the door behind her. Still, he doesn't move from his place. His skin was on fire and his blood did little to cool the burning of his skin.

Nahom calls for him, quietly and trepidly. He doesn't respond, can't find his voice to. The muscles in his shoulders twitch and hot waves of pain roll down his spine and the dips of his ribs. Nahom calls again, louder but just as cautiously. Still, nothing inside him stirs to have him move towards the door as he usually might. 

His eyes slip closed and his lungs expand in a long breath. The air dries his tongue and makes it feel like sandpaper on the top of his mouth. As the air fills his lungs he breathes in another, and another. Feeling as if he had never actually breathed before.

Tears fall, and they fall fast. All the noise he had supressed came out in pained sobs. He hunches forwards and grabs at his face, clawing and pressing into his eyes until they ached. Hours later, after Ka'apeha managed to convince Malina to sleep does he finally move. Slowly and carefully he sits up and turns towards the sink. 

His back arches with discontentment as he stands, arms shaking as he pulls himself up. His knees wobble beneath him as he grits his teeth and forces his arms straight, leaning all of his weight onto the sink. 

Looking at himself he furrows his brows, searching for the fourteen year old he once knew. He was hidden behind the scars, but in his eyes was the same fear he lived through his entire childhood. The same one of not being sure he would live to see the next day. Be it by his own or someone else's hand. 

His eyes trace down the scab along his eye. He wanted to scratch it off his skin. Have the uninterrupted smoothness back. For a moment he thinks his father would be disappointed to see him now, mangled and bloody. Very unbecoming for his one male heir he would say. And Flug would scoff as he always wished he had.

Letting himself back down onto his knees he crawls into the shower to sleep. The tiles cold against his skin.

* * *

 "Hello!" The woman greets him as he steps off the bus. Her black hair tied up into a neat but and hands icy as the grab his. Keeping the sneer off his features he shakes her hand back before pulling away and letting Theophilus shake her hand as well. "Welcome to Bad Säckingen, little lambs." Her hands move to rest on her hips.

"Please thank Berith for me. I know you guys can't take a lot of people at once, so this means so much to us. None of our other contacts had room after a smaller ring was infiltrated." Theophilus says with a small chuckle. The woman returns the laugh with a bright smile and waves her hand dismissively. Something nags at he back of BlackHat's mind but he can't pinpoint it just yet.

"Oh, of course dear! Anything to help. Though I don't think Alexander will be able to handle anymore. He gets attached too easily." She says, nudging his arm with her elbow and winking. "He's all in a twists about where would be a good place for the girl."

"Hopefully somewhere will open up before anyone else shows up. Tumay's thinking of looking through the forest and relocating into the manor." He says. Her eyebrows raise a little at that.

"Certainly would give you more room to house them." She agrees. "Anyways, I'll let you get back to them. Tell your sweets I hope they're doing well." She says and sets a hand on BlackHat's shoulder. He nearly goes to bite at her but manages to restrain himself. Theophilus nods with a polite smile.

"I will, thank you. Goodbye, Mr. Jefecito. The Father and Esther will have our number if you ever want to contact us." He says. BlackHat nods eyes briefly moving to acknowledge him before returning to the hand still on his shoulder.

"I'll call!" Esther says before turning BlackHat around and beginning to guide him down the street. Now closer he picks up on what he had sensed earlier. His human's scent was on her. So he was close! Though it was interlaced with anguish and fear. He hadn't even seen what state his human was in and he wanted to tear her throat out for just being near his human while he was feeling those emotions.

"What's your name, dear?" She asks. As they walk her heels click noisily with each step, a grating noise he couldn't get away from.

"Jefecito is sufficient." He says, staring across the street at a stray cat lounging on a trashcan lid.

"Ah, I think I had a friend who's cousin was named that once." She says pleasantly, twirling a strand of black hair through her fingers. From the corner of his eye he glares at her, lips pulling into a small snarl.

"I highly doubt that." He mutters, sounding more indifferent than annoyed. Esther is quiet for a minute or two as the two walk. This gives him the chance to more closely focus on his human's scent on her. It was potent, meaning he had been close enough to her while distressed the smell could cling to her heavily. Strong enough for it to smell as if he was walking beside his human.

"Anyway," She cuts his train of thought before it could turn too violent. "The Father is waiting for us at the church. Berith will be taking you home in an hour. Right now we're also helping out a woman, she'll be at Berith's home with you for a while. At least until we find her a safe home."

"Thank you." He mutters absently, the words awkward on his tongue. Esther gives him another too sweet smile before they lapse into silence. The clack of her heels are grating to listening to. 

The church is unimpressive to say the least. Never has he been more insulted to be taken somewhere. If he _must_ go to a church at least scrape the moss off the outside. Entering he can feel the warm in his body dissipate and a heavy weight press against his form. His shell is unaffected  by the change but he was suddenly powerless. It felt like having a sopping blanket on top of him, restrictive and hard to navigate in. His shell took a moment longer to respond to his commands. It's heart beat slower in its chest as he walks it towards the pulpit. 

"The Father has been waiting to meet you all day. He's just so excited." She says and pats his shoulder as she passes. Carefully she steps up onto the pulpit and looks back over to him. "Wait here while I fetch the boys." She says before stepping through a door. He stares after her for a moment before the smell of his human pervades his mind again. It surrounded him, thick in the air. He could practically see the distress in the scent. Something itches inside him, no doubt he would be lashing out if he were still able to wield his abilities. 

He looks around the large open room, trying to pinpoint the origins of his human's scent. Tracing the smell back down the isle, stopping at a certain pew where the salty smell of anguish mixes with his human's. Looking closer he notices a small stain on the arm rest, where his human's scent was strongest.

As he goes to investigate further the door opens and Esther leads two men out. One was a portly older man, the other a blonde practically drowning in green robes. He had the distinct scent of being mated. Their eyes meet and the other man physically shrinks back from him, alarmed looking. The older man doesn't have the same reaction, in fact he shuffles down the stairs into the isle and grin widely at him as he takes his hand.

"Welcome child!" He greets warmly. Skin icy cold with angelic blessings. He gives it two curt shakes before letting go. "We're so happy to have you here in your time of transition."

"Pleasure to be here." He says stiffly, trying to wait for him to turn away so he could wipe his hand on his trousers. 

"I'm Father Alexander, you've already met Esther," He says as he motions to the woman. "And that is Ajah." He motions to the mated man who still appears like a deer caught in headlights. Esther jabs her heel down on top of Ajah's foot. The man chokes a whimper and cracks a smile.

"It's nice to meet you, Sir." He manages out through that fake smile. BlackHat stares back at him before replicating his grin. 

"Likewise." He responds. Paling, he adverts his gaze to the intricate stain glass windows. The Father clasps him on the shoulder and guides him back towards the door they had came from. Esther and Ajah follow behind, the youngest closing the door behind them.

"Are you marked at all?" Esther asks. He looks over at her, wanting to sneer and mock her. Instead, he restrains himself and tries to get into character.

"No." He says, aware of the cleansing process.

"That's good." She says. "Then we can skip cleansing and you can wait up in the Father's study for Berith. If you're hungry Ajah can fetch you something quickly." She says and heads up a thin flight of stairs to a door. Locking eyes with Ajah he considers the wrought up man and the offer of a meal and nods his head. Suppressing a pleased grin at the other's nervous flinch.

"That would be very nice." He says, turning his attention towards Esther and following her up the stairs. Making his way into the study he briefly gawks at the hideously green couch. Composing himself he makes himself sit down on it, catching a brief whiff of his human in a much better mood. And the woman from the bar.

"Wait here and he'll be right up. I'll fetch you when Berith arrives." She says before making her way back down the stairs and out of the lounge. Now he would have liked to momentarily crawl from his puppet's skin to stretch while he had the chance. But the angelic energy in the air kept him firmly in his place inside his puppet for fear of being unable to crawl back in if he did. Frankly, it took some energy to not be expelled from his puppet.

Shortly after Esther's department Ajah arrives with a bowl of tomato soup in hand. He fidgets nervously as he approaches. Carefully he hands the bowl over, and surprisingly enough doesn't immediately scurry away.

"Why are you here?" He asks quietly, nudging the door closed with his heel. BlackHat narrows his eyes at him, placing the spoon back in the bowl.

"Pardon?" He nearly growls. Perturbed by his firm gaze he grips onto the material over his stomach.

"You're possessing this person. Why would you want to be here?" His intelligence or ability to sense his trick was amusing and impressive. He was human, and virtually were inept on any spiritual or magical practices or senses. They had the 'fifth sense' or astral projection but that was all very basic and millennia behind every other beings understanding and practice of magic.

"What does it matter to you, boy? You won't tell anyone." He says, raising from his seat. At the threat his face hardens and flushes.

"No, I wont. But not because you don't want me to." He says, meeting his eyes. "Not yet at least."

"What makes you think you have power in this situation? Where is your mate anyway? Shouldn't you be near them at all times?" This seems to strike a chord as the man finally becomes angry. The smell of an angered mated human filled the room, pushing him away. The smell would try to lure his mate close to calm him. However from his reaction, said mate wouldn't be doing that.

"She's not- or ever will be- here right now. And as long as you're in this church I know you're stuck in there. You're as powerful as me." He hisses, knuckles going white at how hard he was gripping onto his clothes.

"What makes you think I wont come after you outside of this church?" He asks, whole interaction amusing to him. Finally someone who was close to being worth his time—at least while he waited for this Berith character.

"You're looking for someone, aren't you?" He asks. A twinge of anger and panic passes through him. He eyes narrow at the statement and he stands to his puppet's full height.

"My matters do not concern you." He growls. The scent of angered human lets up as Ajah calms down. Staring a him for a moment he pushes golden bangs further down on his forehead.

"A lot of things in the church concern me, a lot. You just need to be careful around everyone trying to help you here or you'll never find them." He says before turning and leaving the study. BlackHat watches the doors swing close slowly. Anger crawls beneath his skin as he sits back down and grabs the bowl. It had cooled considerably through the conversation and hardly scorches his tongue.

What did the human know? He had just about as much knowledge on the supernatural as everyone else in his species. And his purposes of being here were hardly his concern. He should be grateful his neck was still in one piece right now. He's halfway through his soup before Esther appears again. Still with her stupid smile she leads him downstairs and outside. Immediately his skin warms and strength returns to his muscles.

Berith was stood outside of his car, leaning on one foot and arms crossed over his chest. He isn't a man that would garner much attention besides the fact he was surrounded by the air of a fallen demon. The humans weren't aware if they were delivering him to his arms. It was nearly amusing they were so easily tricked if it wasn't so irritating.

The man looks up from ensuring his shoes were still clean and paused. The two demonic entities study each other carefully. From aura alone it was impossible to tell what each other was capable of and their intentions. But it was obvious that Berith was the lesser one. Which doesn't necessarily hold as much power on Earth that in the pits of Hell. And with something he had to constantly maintain he wouldn't have many opportunities to influence him—be it physically or magically. Still, if he so wished he could force the other to bend to his will for a short time, if push comes to shove. Which it shouldn't need to. 

"Greetings, Sir." He says rather stiffly, glancing towards Esther. 

"Jefecito." He says, holding eyes with Berith before the man looks back over to the woman with an increasingly curious and perplexed look.

"Jefecito." He says back with a nod. "Shall we go then?" He asks and pulls the passenger door open for him.

"I suppose we can." He climbs into the seat and places his hands on his lap. The door closes behind him, Berith attempts to speak with Esther quietly, stepping closer and placing a hand on her elbow but she waves him away. Expression suddenly turning very serious. They exchange a few quick words and she motions towards the church twice before departing with a semi-condescending pat on his shoulder. Berith walks around the car and takes his place in the driver's seat. Neither say anything for a few minutes. Berith pulls out of the parking lot and begins down a quaint street. He glances over many times as if he might ask something but each time he pays him no mind.

He pulls into the driveway beside a small, two story house. Berith kills the engine and steps out, BlackHat quickly following. Still silent he opens the door for him and he passes by without sparing a glance in his direction. The house is unimpressive, albeit cozy for human standards. Above him, stood at the balcony is the woman from the bar in more practical clothing. She sends him a suspicious look before disappearing further into the loft.

"Your bed is upstairs." Berith says stiffly, closing the door. Heading up the stairs he finds the woman pacing in a small circle, book in hand as she tries to focus on the words on the page in front of her. Staring at the top stair for a moment he follows her movements curiously. If she was here, where was his human? Suddenly her head snaps up and she looks up at him, trepidation in her expression.

"Hello. I'll be staying here for a while." He says and takes the final step up. She stops her pacing and closes the book.

"Hi. I'm Cäcilie." She says, voice scratchy and hoarse.

"Jefecito." He says and is about to move to examine the room when her eyes light up and widen to the size of golf balls.

"You've come for Flug!" She whispers excitedly. Quickly she approaches him and grabs him by the front of his jacket. He is about to push her away when he does a double take at her words.

"Yes, I have. And I wont hesitate to get you out of my way if you impede me." He says calmly. The threat does nothing to dampen her suddenly jolly mood.

"It's not me you have to worry about." She says and looks towards the stairs. Leaning closer she mumbles into his puppet's ear. "It's the church and Berith. They're the ones that took him."

"What?" He snaps. Quietly she shushes him and looks to the stairs again, suddenly nervous about getting caught. 

"They think you're possessing him and took him to the church two weeks ago." She whispers and makes her way back towards her bed, busying herself with tidying the strewn about covers. BlackHat's eyebrows furrow and anger stirs inside him. He wanted to go downstairs and maul Berith then and there. But that eliminated the chance of finding out where his human was without immediately turning the church's wrath against him. Any possibility to avoid a potential blessing—which didn't kill as cleansing might—was one he was going to take advantage of.

"You allowed this?" She gives him an insulted look and drops the pillow onto the bed.

"No, he," She points downstairs. "Has some sort of power to control us. While they were taking him away he made me watch. I wanted to scalp them."

"And would you help me retrieve him?"

"If you let me get a few good punches at him."

"Deal."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The FBI is side-eyeing me so hard with how much exorcism information ive googled for this lmao  
> Ka'apeha's escalator story is mine except the most funny part doesn't work in German because the word that follows don't sound the same. But after I fell and cut my face open I- little 3 year old me- screams "An alligator is eating me." Bc I didn't know the right word for escalator. Lmao. Make fun of me if you want, I'll join you


	14. Unterbrechung

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would you guys think about our boy finding his human?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ✨ Happy birthday to me! ✨  
> This a birthday present to myself and all of you!

Cäcilie lifts her head from her pillow, blanket slipping off her shoulder. Looking over to Jefecito in his bed she lets out a small breath. She knew he was the 'Jefe' Flug hadn't wanted to leave. He had the same voice and air around him the demon in the bar had. What had surprised her was that he had actually tracked Flug down. And not to maul him for running off, but to bring him home. Or what the demon thought of home. The two had come to an agreement that they would work together to get Flug out of whatever situation they had him in. He was confident in his abilities despite his current state and assured her Berith would be easily disposed of.

Slipping out from underneath the covers she reaches up and pulls the rubber band from her hair. Snowy white hair tumbles down her shoulder, still slightly damp from her shower earlier that afternoon. The air is cold outside of her bed and it makes her want to curl right back up. Jefecito shifts quietly in his bed, sheets rustling. His true intentions weren't clear. Yes, he wanted to bring Flug back to America and away from these people. But for what purpose? If he was going to hurt him himself, she didn't know what she'd do to him. But it wouldn't be pleasant. Then again, why travel across an entire country to just torture him himself? Hubris? Greed?

She'd never known a demon to want a human for anything other than a slave or a toy to play with until it breaks. Jefecito seemed to be the gleaming example of everything a demon ought to be. Sinfully proud, arrogant in every sense of the word, possessive, blood thirsty. The absolute, merciless rage sparked in his eyes when he spoke about what he would do to all the church patrons. While she had raged all day against Berith the morning Flug had been taken, her own fury hadn't come close to his own.

Creeping down the stairs she makes her way into the bathroom, locking the door quietly before pushing the shower curtains back to ensure she was alone. With a sigh she pulls them back and sets about what she had woken up to do. After washing and drying her hands she hesitates to open the door. Berith had retired for the night before the two of them, opting to miss out on this night's dinner. But still, she didn't know if he would be prowling around outside in the dark corners. She wasn't sure if the presence alone of Jefecito tipped him off or if he had heard their initial conversation. But he seemed deeply displeased with him being here.

Biting her lip she grabs the handle and pushes the door open and squeezes her eyes closed. When nothing happens she peers an eye open. No one was there. With a relieved breath she steps out and quietly makes her way back up into the loft. When she returns Jefecito is sitting at the foot of Flug's bed, examining something in his hands.

"You're up late, girl." He mutters without looking up from his hands. She makes her way back to her bed and slips beneath the covers, reveling in the warmth against her skin.

"You are too." She says. He looks up, dark eyes connecting with hers.

"Yes, well I have something to attend to." He mutters and turns the object over in his hand. Peering over curiously she catches sight of the object. It was a golden lavaliere in the shape of a goat's head. Its horns and eyes decorated with rubies.

"What is that?" She asks, leaning over the side of her bed for a better look. He turns his head towards her, gaze flicking back towards the jewelry in his palms.

"It's a bewitched item." He says bluntly. "It is taking small amounts of my magic and storing it inside. For what purpose I am unsure."

"It's taking your magic?"

"Magic isn't the entirely right word but that's the best your species came up with, so yes. Minute amounts as to not hinder my normal functions, but while I rest it extracts excess magic and absorbs it."

"Is it doing anything with it?"

"No. It's just holding it for the time being I suppose. It's easy enough to tap into and take back." He says and slips the necklace back around his throat. It glitters slightly in the dim moonlight. With the conversation dead she turns away from his bed and lays down. Perhaps she shouldn't be turning her back towards him just yet, but she was putting some trust in him not to slit her throat in the middle of the night. So just this moment with her defenses down shouldn't hurt.

 

Breakfast that morning had been particularly tense between the two demons. Cäcilie had pretended to not notice it and focused on her food. Afterwards Jefecito took the plates with a mocking, half suppressed grin and washes them. Berith gives his gives his back a hard glare and raises from his seat. She cracks a smile as he makes his way over to the table near the door and grabs his keys.

"Are you two ready?" He asks, turning back towards the kitchen. Quickly she lets the smile from his face and rises from her seat. Resuming her coldness towards him and makes her way towards the door to grab her shoes. As she passes Berith he stops her and grabs her by the chin, turning her head towards him. His eyes darken a few shades and his fingers are suddenly icy cold.

"We're going to behave at church today, aren't we?" He whispers for only her to hear. With a glare she opens her mouth to tell him no when a mumbled 'yes' slips through. Satisfied he lets go and moves away. Stepping into her shoes she pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, that familiar feeling of being controlled settling in her head.

Jefecito pauses as he moves to grab his own shoes, eyes moving down to her chin and narrowing slightly before continuing on. Berith leads them outside and into the car, Cäcilie takes the passenger seat, not wanting them to rip at each others throat or Berith to glare at him the entire way and crash the car. As usual when they pull into the church parking lot Berith unbuckles but doesn't step out. He peers into the rearview mirror, meeting eyes with Jefecito and finally smiling at him.

"Have fun inside, Mr. Jefecito." He says. Jefecito matches his gaze steadily, unaffected by his knowing remark.

"I believe it'll be rather boring inside." He replies before stepping out. "Do hurry, Cäcilie, I'd like to leave as soon as possible." He calls back before closing the door. Berith smile fades slightly but he looks towards her with an evil gleam in his eye.

"Remember what I said, dear. Have fun." She ignores him and quickly slips out, trying to tell him to fuck himself but her mouth doesn't even open. Instead she slams the car door and begins her way towards the church. Jefecito stops her and watches Berith pull out and begin to drive away before turning back towards her. Silently he grabs her face much like Berith had for a quiet moment before letting go.

"What did you do?" She asks, head feeling lighter on her shoulders and thoughts clearer.

"I swear, fallen angels have no grasp on more intricate spells." He says, brows furrowing as they approach the doors. "It only takes a touch to disarm." She wants to press for a better answer but they're too close to the opened doors for it to be safe to. She meets Esther's eyes from across the church and the woman gives her usual, friendly smile. Frowning she steps closer to Jefecito who only hesitates for a moment at the doorway before stepping through. His shoulders tense slightly as he moves but his head is still held high and his expression doesn't shift in the slightest.

"Greetings you two!" She calls and steps down from the pulpit. Passing by a few families and stopping briefly to pat a child on the head who had run into her before she makes her way over to them. "Mr. Jefecito, as this is your first service at our church I'm sure Cäcilie wont mind showing you what we usually do here. And feel free to grab a snack at any time." She points towards the table with a few dishes from the church and the patrons with a smile. Jefecito doesn't match her enthusiasm but manages one back nonetheless.

"Thank you for allowing me to join." He says. Esther nods and turns back towards the pulpit to speak with the Father.

"She doesn't know?" Cäcilie whispers to him as they take a seat near the back.

"I don't believe she does. I have a feeling she wouldn't be as hospitable if she did." The small groups of people around the room begin to make their ways to their usual spots in the pews, sitting their children on their laps and setting their bags beneath the seats.

"She keeps Berith around." She says quietly, watching the woman disappear into the back room.

"He plays nicely with her. I don't intend to."

The Father assumes his position and begins the sermon. A few times Jefecito twitches beside her, clenching his fists and tensing his muscles. He tries to maintain the relaxes, careless façade through it, staring apathetically up at the preacher. It only takes a few minutes before her blood begins to boil however. With each call to love one another she feels her anger doubling until she can't stand to sit and listen to him lie.

"And so the Lord calls upon us to love our neighbors as one loves themselves. Mark twelve, thirty through thirty-one. You see, He calls us to-"

"Liars!" She screams and stands. Jefecito doesn't flinch at her outburst, the rest of the church does and turns to look at her. The sudden attention does nothing to dwindle her fury as she stares up at the Father. "You've built this church on lies! You preach about loving everyone and yet where is Flug?! What did you do to him?! You tell us to flee from evil but one of your associates—the man you gave us to—is a demon! What gives you any right to even think you're better than any of us when you work with 'the enemy' and kidnapped someone?!" A hushes murmur spreads through the room. The Father stares at her, expression blank and unamused for a moment before switching to pitiful.

"Oh, my child." He coos and steps down from the pulpit. She watches him carefully, tensing as he grew closer and stopped beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "We talked about this. Your friend ran away in the night. I understand you're hurt and confused, we're the easiest ones to blame. But you really must understand that we would never hurt him."

"He didn't run away!" She protests, knocking his hand off. "I watched you and Esther take him in the morning! I watched as you wrested him to the ground and cuffed him! He would never have run away!"

"Cäcilie!" Ajah calls suddenly, appearing from the back door and rushing down the isle. "Let's go calm down, shall we?" He gives her a pleading look and offers his hand. She stares at it for a moment before turning and making her way towards the front doors. Ajah follows behind her, closing them again once they're outside.

"You have to be more careful than that." He says and pushes himself away fron the door, moving to stand in frony of her. "You don't want their attention like that."

"You expect me to just let them do what they want? They kidnapped Flug!" She snaps. He sighs wearily, shaking his head.

"I know, I'm trying to think of something but this is so much more complex than you know. There's too many parts that just yelling at them wont do anything." He says. "Listen, I know your angry. But this is a fragile situation and while you dont face the consequences right now, they go down there and take their frustration out on everyone."

"Everyone?" She asks. The possibility of this not being their first time abducting someone mortifying.

"They've been doing this longer than I've been here. _I_ used to be down there, Cäcilie. I- Listen, I just need you to be careful. I don't know why that demon is here or if it relates to Flug, bit if Esther catches on she might keep him alive for us to find out." He says, glancing at the door. She goes to ask him something when he suddenly grabs her shoulder and gives her a sudden panicked look before the door opens. Her hands shoot up to her face as her shoulders tense. Ajah's hand tightens slightly as the door closes again.

"How is she?" Esther asks, her voice still pleasant and caring.

"She had a nightmare before coming over." He says. "It shook her up. She just needs a breather."

"Good." She says, and then quietly to Ajah, "You keep her out here. I need to speak with Berith when he arrives." Cäcilie stares at her palms, listening intently for the door to close again. Once it does Ajah exhales quietly and steps away, his hand moving from her shoulder to his face. She looks up and leans back against the mossy wall.

"What does the demon want?" Ajah asks, fingers massaging at his forehead beneath his bangs.

"Jefecito? He wants Flug back." His hand falls from his face, bangs pushed to the side and something black poking out from the blonde hairs.

"For what? Marking? Mating? Slavery?" He asks, agitatedly pacing in front of the double doors.

"He... I'm not sure. He seems really possessive of him. Flug never spoke much about him, just that he was powerful." She says. "I mean, you should have seen him fighting."

"That's just trouble for us if he plans to do anything against us."

"We came to an agreement. He won't attack anyone unless they did something to Flug or attack him or me." She says. Explaining it made her feel insane for making a deal with a demon. After all the times she had been burned by this exact fire and yet she still turned to it. Ajah didn't seem as pleased by it as well.

"What if he's lying?" He asks. She hesitates at this, looking down at her skirt and think of a good enough reply.

"I don't have any other plan if he does. But if he's not, isn't this a good person to have on our side? I mean- he has serious abilities. This is a risk worth taking." He stares at her for a few moments, blinking before slowly nodding his head.

"Yeah, alright. I want in with you guys. This is bigger than just saving Flug and I want to make sure everyone gets out."

 

"You spoke with the boy?" Jefecito asks after the sermon had ended and Esther pulled Berith to the side of the building to speak. Cäcilie nods and looks around.

"He wanted to speak with us." She says. His head peaks out from the back door. Motioning for them quickly she takes Jefecito by the wrist and pulls him back inside and behind the door. Ajah closes it, hesitating for a moment before locking it. He turns towards Jefecito, looking intimidated but serious.

"I want to hear it from you exactly why you're here." He says. Jefecito meets his gaze evenly nodding ever so slightly.

"Very well. I'm here to take Flug home. He was kidnapped at a convention and I've been trying to locate him." He says

"Why?" Ajah asks. Jefecito blinks in mild surprise and his head tilts slightly.

"Why?" He repeats. Ajah gives him a serious, unfaltering stare. His hands twitch nervously at his sides. Cäcilie is tempted to ease the tension, but thinks it's better to let the situation to unravel naturally until she really needed to intervene.

"Why go through all this trouble to retrieve him. He's human. To you're kind we're easily disposable and even more so replicable." Jefecito tried to not look insulted at his words.

"Flug is a very intelligent, resourceful human. He's worked for me or years and I find him very formidable." He says rather stiffly.

"Do you want to mark him?" He asks, stepping forward. Jefecito holds his place, eyebrows furrowing as he gives him a hostile, suspicious stare.

"What does this have to do with the current situation?" He asks. Both hold the other's gaze for a moment before Ajah is the one to take a step away. He makes his way to a bookshelf against the wall and straightens a few books.

"I've never heard of a demon being so persisten if mating wasn't involved." He says with a simple shrug. Jefecito stares at his back as if he might lunge at him. The tension thick in the air.

"Well you seem to be mistaken in this case." He says. Ajah gives another shrug.

"That's not what we're here to talk about." Cäcilie interrupts. Jefecito looks over at her, some tension leaving his shoulders.

"Yes. I know where Flug and I'm willing to help you get him out, if you help me remove everyone else in the basement."

"How many?"

"Including Flug, ten." Jefecito contemplates this silently, his eyebrows slightly furrowed.

"You have a deal." He says, stepping away from the door. "And company." Moments after the handle twists and the door opens. The Father steps in, his gaze moving across everyone in the room.

"Well, what do we have here?" He asks with a light laugh, gaze locking with Ajah. The younger man swallows before turning towards the bookcase and grabbing a random volume.

"Mr. Jefecito was interested in your copy of Das Parfum." He says, holding the book out for the demon to take. He looks over the cover, showing mild interest in the novel, an eyebrow quirking up.

"Ah, you're a fan of literature yourself, Sir?" He asks, temper put to rest. Jefecito looks up and nods, returning the book to Ajah.

"I enjoy its ability to kill time." He says. The Father nods as Ajah puts the book back into its respectful place.

''Ah, yes.  A good book could waste away an entire day if you have nothing else to do." He says, placing a hand on the small of Cäcilie's back and gently leading her out of the backroom. Jefecito gives Ajah a look behind the Father's back as they follow the two of them. She looks back over her shoulder to the two of them relieved by Jefecito's relaxed grin. At least they weren't snapping at each other's throats.

As he steps out of the church his back straightens and his shoulders relax. Jefecito avoids shaking the Father's hand as he says goodbye and heads towards Berith's car. The engine is purring by the time they reach the car. Ajah follows them and grabs the door handle.

"Be awake at midnight." He whispers before opening the door. She keeps her face flat and ducks her head as she climbs in. The door closes beside her and Ajah makes his way back towards the church. The silence is thick in the air as both the demons in the front refuse to speak. She peers out the window and watches the Father take Ajah by the shoulder. The younger man bows his head before he's lead around the side of the building and out of view. Esther watches the car from the front steps, still and watching.

The car pulls back and leaves the parking lot. Twisting around in her seat, she continues to watch. Just as the church is almost out of view she finally turns and follows the other two around the corner and towards that cellar door.

* * *

"You're positive he's coming?" He asks, looking over at the woman stood in front of the window. She had woken an hour ago and has been stood there most of the time. He knew the mated boy would probably come, it was just a matter of how long he would make them wait or if he would show up at all. Cäcilie seemed determined that he would. He would have gone back to sleep, if he hadn't the modicum of respect he had for her. Instead, he picked up book that had his human's scent on the cover.

"Why else would he say tonight?" She mumbles, shifting to kneel in front of the window and folding her arms on the windowsill. He glances over at her before sighing and pulling the lavaliere from beneath his shirt. Its energy was much stronger than when he had first found it. It was much more potent, nearly full now. It had taken a lot of effort for him to not draw from it and ease the coldness in the church. Thankfully, he had managed to keep himself in control. To use magic in such an angelic environment would only hurt, or even expel him from his puppet. Making this entire subtle approach nugatory.

"There!" She gasps quietly and stands. BlackHat sits up on his bed, closing the book. "He's at the end of the driveway."

"Hold on." He grumbles and stands. Making his way to the window he peers outside, pushing a curtain out of his way. At the end of the driveway stood a nervous looking man. His head turned from side to side before looking up at the window. He gives them a jerky wave towards himself. It was defiantly Ajah, he had the same aura around him. The same demon's mark covered him. "It's him. Hurry up." He says and turns away from the window.

She dodges around him and slips down the steps, keeping close to the wall to avoid the squeakier boards. He follows behind her, much slower. He listens closely and stops at the bottom of the steps. Berith doesn't seem to be conscious, or fully present in this realm. How he was confortable enough to leave them unattended was beyond him but no doubt useful and fully exploitable. Cäcilie grabs her shoes and looks back at him. He makes his way to the door and opens it slowly. The two step out and make their way down to the end of the driveway.

"I left after Esther went to bed. But we need to hurry." Ajah says as they draw close, Cäcilie pauses. He wasn't in his usual ugly robes that swallowed him whole. Instead he wore a ragged, old grey shirt with two holes cut out beneath his arms to allow his extra two to be visible.

"You-" She mutters, nearly dropping her flats. Suddenly he looks bashful, ashamed. He thinks that he doesn't want his human to ever look like that if he was to ever mark him.

"I have the key to the cellar." He says, holding up a thick, rusted key. "If we hurry we can get everyone outside before three. I know a place I can take everyone until we figure out what to do after.

"Wait- you don't have a plan for after we get everyone free?" She stops, a shoe halfway on. Looking up at him he gives them a nervous look.

"I have a place. An old friend from- before. He'll help us." He says and backs away towards the road. "Please, we have to go."

"Get your shoes on." BlackHat says, glancing over at her as he follows him. She huffs quietly and toes on her other shoe before quickly catching up with them. The air is cold and bugs chirp in the grass as they pass. They move quickly, keeping to the side of the road and pausing whenever a car would pass. It takes ten minutes to reach the church. The closer they draw the jumpier Ajah becomes. twice the key nearly slips from his fingers and the second time BlackHat just takes it from him so he can't.

"It's just over here. The chains are a little heavy." Ajah says, walking in front of them and to the large cellar doors. Two thick chains crossed over the doors, a singular padlock, the size and width of his hand, atop it. BlackHat kneels down and pushes the key in, twisting it to the side. It unlocks easily enough and he unlatches it. Throwing it to the side and pushing the chains off the doors. With a soft grunt he pulls them both open and stands back up.

The smell is the first thing that hits him. That nearly painful scent of mated humans mixes with the smell of damp soil. He nearly recoils from it but then, ever so faintly, his human's smell hits him. _My human_. He thinks. _My human, my human, my human, my human, my human_. His thoughts are consumed with Flug as he quickly descends the stairs and forces the door open. 

Pausing suddenly at the sight before him. _Ferals_. Nine ferals precisely, chained and caged all around the room. Disgust hits him first. What self respecting demon would allow their mate to be down here, to allow their mate to decay this far. And then the fear settled in. If _this_ was the state of these humans, was his human marked? Was he becoming a feral? Was it too late? One feral opens her mouth, wide eyed and sitting up on her knees. He ignores her and rushes towards the door where his human's scent was the strongest. Throwing it open he pays no mind to the way it slams against the wall behind it. But to the way his human's voice squeaks in surprise. Snapping his head to the side he stops and stares.

 _His human!_ His human is right there! Making his way over and falling to his knees he stares at him and slowly reaches out as if simply moving to fast would have him human whisked away again. He stares back at him with wide green eyes BlackHat could simply get lost in forever. There's a new scar across his face from the last time he's seen him and resentment stirs in his chest at the sight of the scab. And that temporary marking across his mouth. He would kill Berith for that.

Slowly, he sits up straighter and presses further back against the cabinet behind him. His hands push back on the ground as he pulls his knees to his chest. His hand makes contact with his scarred cheek, cupping it he feels the dim warmth of his human's skin, the marred skin like sandpaper and beautiful. His hands tremble as his human blinks rapidly and tears brim in his eyes. Just as slowly he reaches up and places a hand on his forearm, giving it a slight squeeze as if to confirm to himself this was real.

"Jefe?" He whispers, voice hoarse and spent. BlackHat wants to hold him close and never let go. But the sharp smell of blood pervaded the air scares him of accidentally causing his human pain.

"Let's get you out of here, yeah?" He whispers back. Never had his voice been so soft, so careful to sound comforting. For anyone else he would have been disgusted by his tone—but this was his human and he couldn't even think to use anything else. Fat tears pool in his eyes and he grabs onto his arm firmer.

"You look different." He whispers, looking over the puppet. "You have a plausible skin color." His attempt at humor is strained but comforting nonetheless.

"It won't be here for long." He chuckles softly and wipes at a stray tear from below his eye. Sitting back he grabs a crumpled, bloodstained shirt. "Can you move?" He asks as he unfolds it, finding the front and holding it out for him. Flug takes it slowly and shakes his head.

"No, they have me chained." He says, moving his ankle to jingle the chain. His gaze follows down his leg to the shackle that connects him to the sink. He grabs the chain and feels the sting in his arm as the angelic energies conflict with his powers. Stopping he lets the chain drop and looks back to Flug, who looks much more hopeless than a few moments ago.

"Wait here." He says and stands. As he exits the bathroom he catches sight of something in the corner. Pausing he looks over and nearly gags in disgust of the sight. The body was crumpled in the corner, and an obvious botched job. Marking two humans? What depravity even for a demon. He's just glad he cant sense a mating mark on his human. In the main room Ajah is knelt in front of a woman on a mattress, unlocking her from her shackles. Along her ankles and wrists are deep, bloody bruises, some that cut down to the bone from years of digging in. Suddenly a man is stood in front of him. He reeks of fallen angel and decay. Large spikes of bone protrude from his entire body. The smaller ones dig into his arms as he grabs onto his, glaring at him.  

"Who are _you_?" He demands. BlackHat stares back at him, miffed by the blood getting on his sleeves.

"I'm not here for you." He says and removes his hands. He grabs him again and forces his puppet forwards. He stumbles slightly, caught off guard by his strength at such a late stage in feralization.

"AJ, who is this? Why did you bring a _demon_ down here?" Ajah looks up and his eyes widen. He stands up and holds out his palms.

"It's okay, Nahom. He wants to help Flug. He's not going to hurt any of us." He tries to carefully pull his hand off of him, but his only holds on more firmly.

"I don't want him down here. He can wait upstairs. How do you even know he won't force Flug into marking?" BlackHat pulls his own arm free, disgust in his eyes a he looks at the feral.

"Don't be a child. I've travel across this entire country to bring him home. You think the end result would be me being brainless and traumatizing him even more?" He sneers. "I need the key to his chains." He says, looking back to Ajah. He nods and hands over the key he had been using on the other chains. Taking it he turns back towards the bathroom without another glance towards Nahom. He relaxes his shoulders relax as he approaches his humans. The green eyes track his every move make his puppet's heart beat a little faster. BlackHat slots the key into the keyhole and unlocks it. Hesitantly, Flug reaches down and frees his ankle, running his fingers over the purple skin, attempting to soothe it. BlackHat pushes the chain to the side and picks up the shirt Flug had failed to put on.

"Here, put this on and I'll carry you out." He offers the shirt again and Flug shakes his head once more, looking quite dazed.

"I can't. My back." He says and shifts to bring himself away from the cabinet.

"Let me look." Carefully, Flug leans forwards and lets BlackHat look over he extent of his injuries. Dozens of angry red and bleeding lines overlap across his back. Bruising formed around all of them, and none properly treated. Anger clouds his vision. Whoever did this he would kill. He would kill them a thousand times over in the deepest, darkest pit of hell. Until they had no more bones to break, no more skin to tear, no more blood to bleed. Until they begged to die, to not feel anymore. And he would devour their soul. With a strained breath he brings himself back to the present. "We'll get you cleaned up later, okay?" He says. "But right now I need to pick you up." Flug nods and sits up on his knees. With as much as a new mother had when handling her young, he picks him up beneath the knees, letting him essentially sit on his arms. His legs wrap around his waist and his hands stabilize himself on his shoulders.

"Flug-" Cäcilie gasps as BlackHat carried him out of the bathroom. "Is he okay?" She rounds behind him and feels Flug's head lift off his shoulder.

"Hi." He mumbles to her, giving her a tired wave.

"You're getting out of here. Okay?" She says, patting his shoulder gently and brushing hair from his face. He gives her a smile in return.

"Cäcilie can you help Ishaq?" Ajah asks as he helps a headless human stand. She nods and quickly stands beside her, letting the woman take her elbow.

"What about the ferals?" Flug asks, looking at a particularly piteous looking woman locked in one of the dog cages. All the noise had started up her mumbling. Ajah hesitates and closes his eyes.

"I'll help them pass on when we get everyone out." He says. "We just need to move everyone first." He says.

"We better hurry before that woman wakes up." BlackHat says, shifting Flug in his arms. He adjusts his arms around his shoulders and tucking his face into his neck. The feeling of his gentle breaths against his skin makes his skin feel warmer and satisfied. Which doesn't last long.

"She's already awake."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you don't much mind the cliffhanger ;)


	15. Freiheit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Gore/Violence, graphic description of organs where they shouldn't be (Aka, outside the body and in a demon's claws)  
> I'm posting this today for National Day of Mourning/Thanksgiving for us in the States. I hope you all had a pleasant day<3

Flug tenses against him, fingers digging into the material of his shirt. Esther steps through the doorway, dressed in much more casual clothes. A white blouse tucked into dark pants. On her waist a leather belt with a knife tucked into its sheath. Beside him Ajah tenses but doesn't move from his place. Her gaze floats around the room, taking in the ferals and the humans. She stops at BlackHat meeting his eyes.

"Well, why wasn't I invited to this party?" She asks, making her way towards the back of the room, straightening Ka'apeha's mattress with her shoe. "It's awfully rude, after I house all of you." She says, turning back towards the small group. Her eyes glide down Flug's back, admiring her handiwork. A protective anger stirs in his chest, one that makes him want to rip her throat out.

"Housed us?" Ka'apeha laughs scornfully. Her ankles shake beneath her, blood staining her skin from the deep gashes. It's a wonder she was able to stand at all. "You've imprisoned us for years. There's no living like this. There's no home here."

"I've fed you. I've given you clothes through the years. You had a bed to sleep on." She says, eyes alight with fury though she remains calm outwardly. "What would you have done outside of here? Everyone would have seen you rot alive. You would have all been spectacle, or terminated upon sight. Something so hideous shambling towards society. The night of the living dead!" She laughs, holding up a hand towards Ka'apeha and Nahom. "Look at their monstrous appearance!"

Her following laugh echoes on the walls, angry and slightly manic. Ka'apeha grabs onto Nahom's arm, keeping him beside her. Against his chest he can feel Flug begin to shake, his legs tightening around his waist. In this dim lighting, with the harshest light coming from the ever so faintly flickering bathroom light, she looks inhuman. The shadows hit her features in a way that makes them appear sunken in and demonic. One of her wild eyes illuminated enough for BlackHat to track her gaze that travels over the room.

"I might have paid to see that. Watch that little bitch stumble out into public and shot." Esther stares at a child BlackHat had failed to notice until now. She stood against the wall, trembling and staring at her bloody feet. Nahom breaks away from Ka'apeha's hold, hitting Esther hard and slamming her into the wall. The broken shards protruding from his palms and forearms press into her skin, drawing small droplets of blood. She gasps as she hits it, eyes squeeze close for a moment before they open again. Nahom's hand digs into her shoulder, his other arm against her throat and pressing into it.

"Shut up!" He all but snarls, a small bone protruding from his throat bobs with his Adam's apple. "Shut the fuck up! I'm sick and tired of your shit!" She smiles, grabbing at his arm. He doesn't budge, instead he presses against her harder. Again, she gives a cocky little chuckle.

"Why are you so mad at only me? What about our little house spider? He sat on his hands for years and you get mad at me? Why couldn't he have snuck out sooner? Hit me over the head? Killed me? Certainly this isn't his only chance to free you?" Her eyes move to Ajah, frozen stock still. BlackHat looks over at him curiously, amusing the same question. Certainly in the years he'd been here, he would have had plenty of opportunities to slip the key and sneak away to his 'friend's' home with at least one feral at a time. Or unleash the ferals in the cage to get rid of the two humans. Ferals were notorious for not attacking each other. They mauled and devoured everything with a soul they could get their hands on, but never each other. Even ferals in the beginning stages.

"Where is Alexander?" Nahom demands. Esther rolls her eyes, smile faltering.

"Oh, that pig is probably still asleep." She grunts. Within a few moments her leg swings up, the toe of her shoe hitting him between the legs as she pushes against him. He stumbles back, hitting a cage. The droplets of blood on her skin is black in the modest lighting. "Though, I am going to wake Berith for this little outing." Nahom stands straight, panic and fear briefly brushing over his features. Looking around, BlackHat takes notice of the fear that settles on all the ferals. Even Ajah seems intimated at his intimidated arrival.

"What can he do that I cannot simply over power?" BlackHat asks, watching her carefully as she begins to move again. Their eyes meet, and their gazes hold as she moves towards the door. A hand reaches for the handle before pausing.

"I am confident in Berith's abilities. You know nothing." She says. Slowly she turns her back, opening the cellar door.

"As I am with mine." He replies. Esther looks back, all smiles and mirth gone as she realizes what had slipped under her. Hot fury colors her face red. Her eyes narrow as her knuckles go white on the knob.

"God bless your souls. I've tried to help you." With that, she ascends up the stairs. After a moment on silence a sudden shriek shatters the silence. Inside the cage the emaciated woman writhes violently and screams as if dying. The pheromones of a distressed mated human makes BlackHat's head throb. Her screams echo off the walls and rings in his ears. Though it appears she has no more muscles or not enough to even lift her finger she moves like a wild dog, grabbing onto the bars and shaking the entire cage.

"We have to get moving." Ajah says through her screaming. Flug buries his face further into BlackHat's neck, gripping onto the back of his shirt. A sudden shiver overtake him as he quivers in his arms. Tightening his arms around his hips to assure him he's okay, BlackHat nods at the man.

"What about Berith?" Ka'apeha protests, stepping away from the door. The screams begin to die down.

"If we hurry maybe we'll miss him." Nahom says, holding his head up as he walks towards the door. He glances at BlackHat at he passes, careful not to knock shoulders with him. Ka'apeha gives his back an anxious look before grabbing the child's hand carefully and leading her out. Nahom's logic was nearly laughable, but if it got them moving there was no real arguing with it. Following those three out he makes his way up the stairs and feels Flug's head lift up and survey the area. He can feel him take a deep breath of fresh air, savoring it in his lungs before exhaling. Just a foot away from the cellar doors the child is on her knees, pulling up handfuls of grass and marveling at the blades in her hands and soil getting stuck beneath her nails. Quickly Ajah and Cäcilie emerge from the darkness, the former dropping the doors closed.

"Boy," BlackHat says, turning towards Ajah. He gives him a look of mild surprise and inclines his eyebrows to show he's listening. "Take Flug, I want to make sure of something." He says and carefully shifts to hand the injured man over.

"What?" Flug asks before Ajah can. He clings on tighter. "No, Jefe, let's just go." He presses his face into his neck, refusing to let go. It wasn't like he wanted to either, but the woman had to be dealt with before she could raise the alarms to the others prematurely. Carefully, but with enough strength to do so without hurting him further, he pries Flug's legs and arms from around him. As Ajah adjusts him in his arms he gives BlackHat a confused and hurt look.

"Continue on, I'll be able to find you once I'm finished." He says as he turns around and begins towards the church building which her aura could be sensed from. As he walks he forces himself to ignore his stirring jealousy at the sight of Flug being held by someone else. With no more use for his disguise he absorbs the puppet, the extra energy funneling into the lavaliere.

The air inside the church burns slightly at his exposed flesh, the draining of his warmth and strength much more extreme without the protective barrier. Esther's back disappears into the backroom, the door closing halfway behind her. He follows quickly, quietly stepping through the crack in the door. Her back is to the door, as she picks up the handset to an old phone sat on her desk.

"Tell me," She gives a startled jerk and whirls around. She gives him a hard look and sets the handset down on the desk. "What did you think you would get from this?" He asks as he approaches the desk. She fumbles with the collar of her shirt before pulling a cross necklace from beneath it. He reels back at the sudden intense burning sensation but quickly steels himself.

"Get back, demon. I don't know how you managed to sneak by me for so long but I'm not falling for anything you say anymore." She says. "You'll have no chance to corrupt me."

"Don't worry, I have no interest in you whatsoever." He replies, stepping closer and gripping her by the throat, digging his claws into her skin. Satisfaction ripples through him at her choked gasp, at the sensation of her trying to breath against his hand. "I'm only here to ensure I can deal with your associates on my own terms."

"Go back to hell." She manages, trying and failing to pull his arm away.

"I'll be meeting you and the two others there shortly." He says back, and shoves her towards the ground. Hitting the ground with a loud thud she groans. Without giving her the time to get up BlackHat kneels beside her, on hand on her throat to keep her in place and the other digging into her stomach. She screams something terrible and writhes beneath him. She grabs onto his arm in a feeble attempt to pull his claws out.

"You know no pain like that I will subject you to." He says, grin widening as his curls his fingers into a fist, grabbing onto something and extracting another scream. "Lucifer himself will shy away from the sight of you." Pulling his hand back the sound of her shrieks is music to him. In his hand was part of her small intestine, some still dipping back into her stomach. "Oh, are we going to cry?" He laughs and lets the bloody entrails his the ground.

She chokes on a whimper and her hands cover the open wound desperately. With a small 'tsk' he pulls her hand away easily and crushes it. The other flies up and grabs the cross necklace. growling, he grabs her other hand and crushes it as well, a part of the silver poking through broken skin. Shaking his hand to rid himself of the burning sensation he turns his attention back to the large hole in her skin.

"The Lord will be proud of the work I've done to spread His word!" He cries as he digs his hand back in. With a roll of his eye he ignores her and reaches up and digs his nails into something. Her muscles spasm and she writhes violently beneath him, crying out again as he pulls out another handful of organs.

"I think we should feed you to the ferals." He says as he looks over the bloody shapes in his hand. Probably the liver, he thinks disinterestedly. "They need meat in order to thrive."

"No!" She yells and squirms again, trying to work herself free from under the hand on her neck, two useless broken hands pawing at it fruitlessly. "No! No! Leave me! I'm sorry!"

"You're sorry?" He asks, stopping his hand. Her eyes focus on it hovering above the wound as she gives a desperate nod.

"Yes! Please, I would never have done this if I knew who he was!" The brief silence that passes seems to ease her ever so slightly. Her heart still hammers in her chest as her breathing is labored, but the briefest look of hope passes over her features. Sitting back BlackHat grabs her by the hair and stands. She scrambles to follow him, shattered hands covering her stomach. "Where- where are we going?" She asks, trying to press a particularly long piece of her entrails back inside her.

"Downstairs." He replies curtly.

"What?!" She tries to pull away but his hold is firm. "No! No, God please!" Turning back around he drags her back outside and down the stairs. She trips several times down, but he doesn't give her any time to correct herself before he's pushing through the door. Immediately the ferals are intrigued by the smell of blood.

"You've starved them." He observes, reveling in the terror across her face and the ferals pressing at their cages to reach for her. "As if they wouldn't be vicious without the hunger." He says and steps back into the doorway. She twists around to look at him and tries to crawl towards him on her broken hands.

"Wait! I said I was sorry! Please!" She calls. He gives her a smile and holds a finger over his grin. Tendrils burrow from his back and wrap around the bars of each cage. They tug and rip one of the sides off. The one that looked more like a tiger than human pounces first, claws digging into her thighs. Esther screams, trying to babble out a prayer. He retreats from the room and places a holding spell on the wood of the door, ensure it wouldn't break.

With his grin still across his face he ascends the stairs and drops the cellar doors lazily with his foot. Crossing the chains back over, but not locking them before he left. The scent of humans and ferals are heavy in the air and easy enough to follow. Smoothing down his jacket he follows after them. The streets are quiet and cold, everyone having retried hours ago. And those who were out made themselves scarce and walked briskly. Small clouds of air puffed in front of him as he navigated through the city.

Stopping he follows the trail to a door and knock three times on the wood. There's a long pause of silence, the movement of feet, and two quiet voice conversing before the door opens a fraction. After a pregnant pause it swings wider open and Ajah gives him an uneasy look.

"He passed out not too long ago." He says, stepping aside to allow him in. The door closes quickly behind him before Ajah slips past him and leads him into a living room. "He might have gotten an infection."

"That means..." He starts, woefully ignorant about human biology and the implications. Ajah motions to the couch, on it Flug is curled tightly and shivering. The lashes across his back are bare for all to see. The skin around them is swollen and painfully red.

"Bacteria got in, he needs to rest for a while as they heal." He says. "Right now we're going to clean them while he rests." He says, carefully peeling back the thin cover to rest solely on Flug's legs and hips.

"Oh, you must be Jefe." Another man enters. His grin is crooked and the gap in-between his two front teeth make his mouth appear smaller. He sets down a small wicker basket and removes a plastic bottle

"Yes." He says stiffly, watching as he moves to kneel beside him. "And you?"

"Obed." He replies and digs around in the basket, pulling out a pair of tweezers. "Flug and Cäcilie met me at the church. I've known Ajah for a few years." This earns him a suspicious look, anything to do with the church at this point was of great distrust.

"You may have the boy's vote of confidence, but you are on thin ice with me." He says, watching as Flug's arms tighten around himself and he trembles. Obed gives him a half amused smile but nods.

"Very well. Feel free to watch me, my sister is heating up food for everyone." He says. Ajah steps closer to him and leans down.

"Thank you, Obed." He says, eyes sad. The other man reached up and pats his arm.

"Of course." He replies before returning his attention back to Flug. Silently, Ajah dismisses himself from the room and further into the house. "We've already cleaned his back with soap and water." Obed says as he raises the tweezers to his skin. "Now I'm removing and possible debris from the wounds."

"Do humans often succumb to infections?" He asks as evenly as be could, seeing him like that. Lowering himself into a chair adjacent to the couch. The tweezers pinch on to something and Obed is silent until he drops what he had pulled into his palm.

"If you mean die, then only in really extreme cases. Your friend here should be fine. Luckily it wasn't too bad. We're expecting him to make a full recovery." Leaning back into the seat he relaxes. Death had never been a worry before. No demon could destroy his form enough to send him back to Hell, and he had never been so attached to a mortal before. But losing him to something so meaningless, small, after finally having him again terrified him. Reminded him of exactly how fragile humans were. A thought that no longer brings the pleasure it once had.

"Good." He mutters stiffly, watching as Obed continues to work. It's a few more minutes before he sets the tweezers down and grabs a small container of Vaseline. He pops the cap open and turns slightly to give BlackHat a brief explanation of what he was going to do when Flug suddenly jolted up. A loud gasp escapes him as he scrambles back on the cushions, kicking the blanket off him in the process.

"Who- Where-" He sputters, wide eyes move around the room. He pauses at the sight of BlackHat, face paling. "I'm sorry." He gasps out, teary eyed.

"For what, Doctor?" He asks and slowly stands. Flug flinches at the motion, lowering his chin.

"I can't tell if you're real." He says. His voice filled with shame. After a firm glance from BlackHat, Obed stands and hands the Vaseline off to him.

"You'll need to apply that to his injuries." He says quietly before leaving them alone. BlackHat sets the container on the couch for the time being and takes a seat in front of him, carefully setting a clawed hand on his knee. His eyes lock onto it, watching him carefully from the corner of his eye. He doesn't flinch, but something still clenches unpleasantly inside of his chest.

"I am as real as the morning star, Flug." He assures, though it appears to do very little. "Why wouldn't I be?"

"It's just-" He pauses, seeming to remember something and anxiously rubbing at his wrist, fingers twitching. "Tšernobog tricked me once, and I fell for it." A white hot anger flashes in his mind. That- He should have tortured him more!

"I would kill him a thousand times more if it meant you would believe it is truly me." He says. "Whatever that pathetic waste of space said or did, I will never do."

He remains silent for a minute or two, long enough for BlackHat to consider asking him to turn so he could apply the petroleum jelly. "He... broke my wrist." He admits, choking on the words. That anger returns tenfold, his vision red and the world silent for a moment as he stops himself from gripping onto his knee too tightly, or allow his blinding rage show on his features.

"Should we have your friend look at it? You move it very well for it being injured." He says gently, taking the wrist he had been rubbing at in his hand to look it over. Generally, broken bones looked worse than this, though it was difficult to see past the bracelets of nasty purple and red along the entirety of his wrists.

"No." His fingers uncurl from the loose fist they had made. "He healed it afterwards." He says, staring down at their hands.

"That's one less thing to worry about." He chuckles awkwardly. Taking his hand from his wrist he grabs the container and stands. "I'll need you to turn around for this." Flug nods and carefully shifts to face the back of the couch, resting his arms on the cushions and bowing his head. Opening the lid he dips a claw into the Vaseline and carefully traces the angry cuts that interrupted the galaxies of freckles that trickled down his back.

He keeps his touch feather light and takes extra care in ensuring that everywhere that needs the petroleum jelly had it. Every so often Flug will shift. He never makes any noises or shows outright discomfort, but it's enough to make him pause. After he settles again he returns to his task until he's satisfied and steps back. His head lifts from his forearms at the loss of contact and turns to peer curiously at him.

"I'm going to fetch the shorter human, stay here." Snapping the lid closed he sets it back into the basket and follows the direction the two humans had gone. It leads to a small kitchen, the ferals sat around a table and nibbling on tiny bits of meat and drinking small cups of water. Obed is stood at a counter, speaking quietly with an equally short woman. She had the same, if not darker, hazel skin as Obed, and her hair was braided along her scalp before turning into a bun at the base of her head. She was beautiful for human standard, and round.

"Oh, hello. How's Flug doing?" She asks politely, using her knife to swipe a cut cucumber into a bowl.

"He appears to be doing well." He says, watching as the feral child ate with shaky hands. Nibbling on her food to savor it. Nahom doesn't pace himself quiet as well, taking large bites as if it would be taken from him and chewing for a while.

"You've finished then?" Obed asks. "Then I'll go and cover them after they air dry for a while." He says, sliding onto a stool.

"Take this to him, though." The woman says, handing him the bowl. "He'll need to pace himself, eating too much too fast after not eating for a while can hurt him more than help."

"Of course." Taking the bowl he heads back into the living room. While gone, Flug had laid back down, back to the cushion but not touching it. His eyes are closed but his fingers tap aimlessly on the cushions. "Flug?" He says gently and takes a seat on the ground beside him. His eyes open slowly, obviously tired.

"You weren't gone long." He mutters sitting up slowly, winching at the motion.

"Yes, unfortunately for you." He smiles lightly. Flug rolls his eyes as his lips give the slightest twitch upwards. "You should eat, however." Holding up the bowl, Flug gives a curious look for a moment before taking it.  

"Thank you." He says and leans against the arm of the couch. BlackHat settles back onto the armchair as he eats, busying himself with inspecting the wall decorations while keeping an eye of Flug. He chews slowly and holds the bowl close to his stomach, jagged scars peeking out from behind it. Both are silent for a long while, the quiet chatter and occasional clink from the kitchen drifting in the air.

Flug settles back down on the couch a few minutes after finishing. He turns and presses his face into the light brown cushion, his arms wrapped securely around himself. BlackHat is content to watch him drift off for a few minutes. To watch the subtle movements of his back as he breathed, his head shift to find a better position. The vulnerability of sleep, how humans could so easily be ended in this position.

Standing, he grabs the bowl and returns to the kitchen. Only Ka'apeha and Nahom remain at the table. Cäcilie now there as well, looking rather nervous. Obed and his sister are no longer in the room, Ajah in their place at the sink, taking care of the few dishes remaining. As he sets the bowl on the counter beside the sink, Ajah looks up in mild surprise before sighing quietly.

"How's Flug doing?" He asks quietly, looking back at the soapy plate in his hands as he puts it under the water.

"He's asleep currently." He says. "I've noticed a trend. They seem to have a- for lack of a more proper phrasing- affinity for ferals. Why take him?" Ajah sighs at this and turns the water off, picking the sponge back up and grabbing a cup.

"She had this running theory. She thought, while there are physical marks, there could be psychological marks. Where if a human spends too long with a certain demon then they will begin to genuinely believe that they want to be around said demon, that a mutually beneficial relationship can be reached." Glancing over, he catches BlackHat's deep frown. "She thought Flug would be a perfect example of 'mental marking' as she called it."

"Then why'd she take him in front of me?" Cäcilie pipes up, twisting around in her seat to face them, knees on either side of the back of the chair. "Like I wouldn't have a few problems with kidnapping first thing in the morning."

"Oh," He mutters, pausing the dishes to face her, wiping his hands on his shirt. "Berith's a tool for her." His second set of hands twitching nervously at his sides. "For all the talk she does of never working with the enemy, she uses his powers often. Normally, they'll send the unmarked one away before they take them to the basement. But since Flug didn't have a physical mark they wanted to remove him as quickly as possible. She was confident in Berith's ability to keep you under control and to maintain their public image. Jefe's appearance threw them for a loop, I guess. He's the only demon that's come looking for someone."

"That's not surprising." She scoffs. "No offense, Jefe, but demons aren't really the compassionate type."

"They're supposed to have at least a _shred_ of decency for their mates." He grouses. The thought of taking a mate, such an intimate and soul binding experience, and then to throw his mate made no sense. If one was to make that trade off, why waste it and abandon them immediately? Low even for their kind.

"Well, I guess your kind found a new low, huh?" She shoots back, looking tired but entirely willing to argue about this. He concedes on the matter, making an annoyed face but pressing no further.

"Anyways," Ajah coughs awkwardly. "I can dress Flug's injuries now." With a glance towards BlackHat he makes his way back to the living room. Following behind him he stands in the doorway as the man sits on the ground beside the couch and rummages through the basket. One hand pulls a roll of gauze, another gauze tape. It's no longer odd to watch demons or entities like him multitask. One set of arms can perform one task, the other an entirely different one. Ajah's top set of arms handles to gauze roll, unraveling some and cutting it. The bottom applies the tape to it and carefully presses it to Flug's skin.

"The woman said something that piqued my curiosity." He says. For a moment, his movements falter. One hand knocks another before quickly correcting themselves and returning to work.

"She said a lot of things tonight." He replies quietly, forcing his eyes to focus on the sleeping man in front of him.

"Yes, mostly nonsense. But why haven't you attempted an escape until now?" A sigh passes through his lips as he sighs. Looking down at the roll in his hand he shakes his head.

"I've been trying for years. Most of the time whenever I had something ready there would be a new person they take in. Or someone would deteriorate more than I expected them to. When these two arrived I was about to steal the key to the basement. But Esther gets more observant when there's new visitors I had to wait until she started to leave the keys on the table again. But with your arrival, I guess I had to rush my own plans of getting everyone out." He says, finishing up. "And having a demon on our side doesn't hurt."

"And how would you know I wouldn't stab you in the back?" He asks, moving across the room to return to the armchair. Ajah gives him a grievous look as he slowly stands, picking up the basket.

"Flug." Is all he says before silently dismissing himself. Settling back into the seat he lets out a quiet breath and closes his eye. He was right, wasn't he?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been wanting to write some really project-y angsty shit so I don't know if that'll manifest in this or one of my PH WIPS but I am not close to finishing making these boys suffer. Despite how close we are to the comfort in this long as hurt/comfort.  
> Sorry if it feels like nothing happened this chapter, we'll be visiting our priest friend and favorite fallen angel next chapter.


	16. Alptraum

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finished Fahrenheit 451 recently and I think it's influencing my writing style now lmao.

_He's in the plane._ The _plane. For a moment everything is going well, he's proud that his baby is sailing smoothly. And suddenly he's going down. He's covered in blood and on fire. His knee is going the wrong way and he can't feel his arms._ _He's screaming, he can feel it in his throat. His face is hot and numb. There's something on the left side of his face, it hurts too much to feel._ _Nails dig into the ground as he tries to pry himself free. He's still screaming-he thinks-he's still breathing smoke. He's dying._

_Suddenly his body is cold as a grey claw reaches through the rubble and pulls him free. He's on his feet, shaking hands with BlackHat. Monocle glinting in the light and contract in his free hand. Skin all too cold. There's a push against his back and he goes tumbling forwards. BlackHat disappears into a cloud of snake shaped smoke._

_He hits a concrete ground, hands attempting to catch himself. It's cold against his sweaty palms and blood is pooled in front of him. He can taste it on his tongue, can feel it drip from his lips and chin._ _A lash streaks across his back. The pain is hot and agonizing. The end of the whip curls around his arched back, it leaves angry red welts behind in its wake. It doesn't break skin yet, they're careful to not put enough force into it just yet. Two more lashes across his back and another across his shoulders. He screams again, he can hear himself this time._

 _"Be quiet!" His father's voice demands. But when he looks up it's Golden Monarch, smiling. Two large horns casting shadows over his eyes. He paces around him, whip trailing behind him like a tail._ _He pushes himself up and the crack of the whip sounds as a heart stopping pain shoots through his shoulder. Suddenly he's in the bathroom again, candlestick pressed into is spine. Tšernobog pulls back, teeth covered in his blood. He smiles and makes a show of licking his lips before going down and lapping the blood from his skin._

 _Something inside him snaps off, leaving him feeling slightly emptier. Tšernobog pushes his teeth back into his skin, he can feel him suck, draining him of blood, sucking more of whatever had broken inside out. He lets out a desperate whimper, trying to will his arms to move and push him off._ _When Tšernobog's head rises again he's BlackHat, glaring at him like he always does. He's in his usual lab attire with a clipboard to his chest, his knees trembling. Never has a fear felt so familiar._

 _"You're a pathetic being." He says staring down at him, eye deduced to a thin slit. "What makes you think you're good enough to even breath the same air as me?"_  
_He speaks but the words don't reach his own ears. This conversation is vaguely familiar, but he doesn't remember BlackHat saying these exact words._

 _BlackHat grabs his throat, squeezing enough to cut off his air. His head is yanked down and suddenly he's beneath water. Bubbles flood from his mouth and he flails helplessly, trying to swim to what he thought was up. He doesn't break surface in time and can feel his lungs fill with water. The pain is cold, unlike the flames, it evades his whole chest. Burning his lungs and eyes._ _His vision begins to darken as his mind slows. The thrashing stops as he succumbs to the insistent pull of the deeper water. As he sinks, he nearly thinks he can hear BlackHat laughing._

* * *

Flug awakes with a jolt, tumbling off the couch with a terrified gasp. His forehead meets the hardwood floor. Inside his chest his heart hammers and his lungs gasp desperately for air. Looking up, he shoves his hair from his face, surveying the unfamiliar room around him. Suddenly there's someone at his side, a hand on his shoulder. Flinching away he turns towards them, squinting in the darkness to make out that familiar silhouette.

"Are you okay?" BlackHat asks, rough voice quiet and gentle. His hand comes up to his face. Flug flinches again, eyes squeezing closed. Instead of digging into his skin or hitting him, he brushes a thick curl from his face. Opening his eyes he chances a glance over to him. He doesn't look pissed, or annoyed. was he- _concerned_?

"S-Sorry." He mutters, sitting up a hand coming to wipe at his mouth. "Just a dream."

"You're okay now." He says, helping him climb back onto the couch. As he settles back on his side he picks the blanket from the ground and lays it cross his legs, tucking it beneath his hips.

"What time is it?" He asks, moving to try and lean against his elbow but the sharp pains in his back halt the movement. They had been at Obed's since yesterday, letting him heal more before any action was to be taken. The ferals would sleep upstairs in the guest bedroom, Blažena and Ka'apeha sharing the bed. Everyone else with sleeping bags. They planned to be there much longer than Flug and BlackHat.  

"Roughly midnight." He says, leaning back to check the clock. "You still have a few hours to sleep."

"I don't think I could." He chuckles grimly, recalling the sensation of the water filling his lungs, the burning in his throat and eyes.

"It's okay. Close your eyes, I'll be here until you fall asleep." Getting comfortable against the arm of the couch he watches Flug tense expression soften lightly as he nodded into the couch cushion. His eyes close slowly, his breath evening out soon after.

For human standards how long he had stared. But a quiet little part of him didn't want to leave him alone while to vulnerable. To ensure that no one be able to touch him. Another, just as quiet and suppressed, wished to simply admire him while he relaxed. His features weren't pulled into a panicked or anxious expression.

However, the louder part of him, the one he was willing to listen to, said that he was keeping his word. He told him that he would be here until he felt asleep. He was just... Just- Watching him sleep like a fucking mate would!

Turning away quickly, he grimaces at the thought. They weren't _mates_. Flug would never agree to it after this whole ordeal. Besides, he didn't need a mate. That sort of exchange was complex and everlasting. Two mates would be bonded forever after, through death and the hardships that filled the world. Humans weren't made to become mates. They were too weak, lived too short of lives. Yes, their soul could return through another body. But no demon has been known to wait long enough, or survive the demon's unique feralization process nicknamed 'Raging'.

Ragers, even if they lasted long enough for their mate's soul to be reborn, probably would be too far gone to even recognize them. They would tear them apart at first sight like anything else that crossed its path. The risk of a human mate was a great one. Though, of course, one could always make a human immortal, or a halfling. But what human would want to be changed into a halfling on top of being mated? With a sigh, he stands from the ground. It had been roughly an hour since Flug had settled back down. His breathing had calmed and if he focused enough, his heart had calmed and returned to a steady rhythm. Grimacing he tugs the brim of his hat down and gives a quiet snarl into it.

He was BlackHat for _crying out loud_! He didn't need a mate, didn't want one! Mates were a juvenile and frivolous pursuit! Not one demon has ever gained any power just for taking a mate and doting on their every whim. Flug was a business asset. He used him for his brilliant mind, nothing more nothing less. In fact, he barely tolerated anything else about the man. Perhaps, save his eyes. What a shame to hide such eyes.

Moving into the kitchen, he grabs a chair and turns it to face the window. The stars are bright in the sky, unlike Hatsville where the general bustle of city life fogs up even the skies. BlackHat had never been much of the sentimental type, though he supposes tonight was just putting him in one of those mood. The type where the past seemed particularly alluring to dwell on, and the act of breathing alone seemed like a feat enough to discourage any other movements.

For a while he occupies himself with listing all the reasons he did not want a mate. And the even longer list with how terribly south a human mate could go. And finally with how he did not in fact want _Flug_ as a mate. When the sky began to grow orange and the sound of running water caught his attention from upstairs, he corrects the chair and returns to the living room. Avoiding looking at the sleeping man on the couch, he lowers himself into the armchair in much the same position Ajah had left him in last night and waited.

Perhaps he should have rested more. Being in the church without his puppet alone had been enough to drain some of the magic from the necklace. And to get back to the manor when all is said and done efficiently, teleportation would be needed. He's teleported before, obviously. But both having another, non-magical being and the extreme distance would sap a great deal of his energy. Saving up as much as possible would be the wisest move.

Obed is the first to come down the stairs. His loose curls disheveled and eyes closing every few seconds. It was humorous, how long humans took to adjust between consciousness and unconsciousness. He pauses at the bottom of the stairs, eyes catching on the dark figure of BlackHat. "You're awake." He observes blearily. "You want anything to drink?" With a barely stifled yawn he moves towards the kitchen. BlackHat doesn't bother responding. Mortal foods all tasted very bland, nothing much that peaked his interest. Despite his lack of answering, Obed appears in the living room doorway with two mugs. "Here," Holding out the cup, BlackHat watches the steam ride in the modest morning light before taking it. "It's chai tea."

"I'll give it to Flug." He says, looking down at the light brown liquid. The mug was hot to the touch and filled nearly to spilling over. Hopefully it would cool to an appropriate temperature by the time Flug needed to wake up to change his bandages.

"Ah, yeah. He'd probably like it more." He says, Hispanic accent heavier than when fully conscious. "I don't think I've ever seen a demon eat anything."

"Your food all tastes the same, nothing worth wasting time over." He says, setting the mug down on the small table beside the armchair, careful not to knock it against the lamp.

"And I don't think I've ever seen an unmated demon pursue a human as hard as you seem to with nothing but business in mind." Scowling, he turns back to Obed. He doesn't seem to realize the entirety of what he's implying, but he's certainly awake enough now to be growing curious.

"Watch that tongue of yours." He says, one hand gripping the arm of the chair just a bit harder. "I need no mate. They're a useless pursuit. Flug is capable of manipulating matter in a way I've seen no human able to before." Obed nods, entirely unconvinced but conceding on the issue. Raising his mug to his lips he takes a breath, the steam curling up and disappearing into the darkness that clung to the ceiling and in the corners. With another nod a moment later he exits the living room, returning upstairs.

The quiet commotion of humans starting to groom themselves to get ready for the day is better than the contemplative silence that had been accompanying him. The steps creak the floorboards and the muted hum of water running turns his attention from the matter of mates, to watching the stairs. The new noises causes Flug to stir. He shifts and turns his head into the cushion on the couch, pale hands reaching down and pulling up the blanket. Picking up the mug he moves beside the couch and shakes his shoulder, careful to avoid one cut that ran the majority of his back. A small noise comes from him as he attempts to move back and away from his hand.

"Slys." He says, shaking him again. "It's time to change your bandages." Drawing his hand back, he switches which one was holding the cup. Flug sits up against the arm of the couch, hand coming up to attempt to push his hair from his face as his eyes flutter open again.

"What smells good?" He murmurs, looking up at him with those eyes that reminded him of an archangel's from centuries ago.

"The man made tea. It should be cool enough that it shouldn't burn." Flug takes the mug, holding it in front of him as he breathes in the smell. _I don't need a mate._

"Thank you, Sir." He says, bringing it to his lips. Frowning at himself he adverts his gaze, watching Cäcilie make her way down the stairs. Her long hair tied up sloppily at the base of her neck, poking out every which way. She joins Obed in the kitchen and speaks quietly.

"Once you're finished I'll change your bandages." He says. The man nods, tilting his head back as he begins to drink. BlackHat gives him a final glance before making his way into the kitchen. At the counter, the child was sat at a bar stool, shaking hands signing, slowly and unsure. Ka'apeha watches her intently, trying to make out what she was trying to say.

"Milk?" She says. "Would you like some milk, Sweetie?" The girl pauses, before slowly nodding. It didn't seem to be exactly what she had been trying to ask for, but it was close enough for her. Ka'apeha smiles at the child, running her hand through her hair before turning towards the fridge.

"Jefe," Cäcilie says, noticing him and rounding the counter. "Ajah and Obed want to talk to you later." She says. He frowns at this but nods.

"They can wait." He says. "Flug's bandages need to be changed. I'm just coming for the basket." He says, subtly adjusting his overcoat. For a moment she's looking at him with a certain unreadable look before nodding.

"Of course." She says, pointing towards the restroom door connected to the kitchen. "Its underneath the skin in there." With a nod he makes his way into the bathroom and kneels down, pulling the cabinet doors open. He only takes what he truly needs, leaving the rest in their places.

As he makes his way back out of the bathroom and towards the living room he catches the little girl staring at him. And for the first time, he entertains the thought of even considering a human _child_ for mating. A unique disgust settles in his gut at the thought as he forces himself to carry on. One would think because demons were malevolent spirits, who derived pleasure and power from the suffering of others, there wouldn't be general rules—well, loose guidelines—one ought to follow. It seemed common sense to both look for and after one's mate. To not take unwilling mates. Especially _children_ mates, of any species.

Flug still held the mug by the time BlackHat returned. In reality, he hadn't been gone that long, but at which the rate Flug drank coffee at the manor he would have expected he be done with his drink by now. He looks up as BlackHat returns and sets the bandages and antibiotic cream on the cushion. Wordlessly, he sets the cup down on the floor before turning around.

Hesitating for only a moment he unscrews the lid and dips a claw in. There's a quiet whisper in the back of his skull, _animal_. It says as he traces the lashes across his skin. _Acting like a lower demon, crazed for a exotic mate to raise your status. Control yourself, you're a Rager in an unmated demon's body._

Shifting underneath the sensation of the gauze going onto his skin, he pulls him from his thoughts. What had this all stirred up in him? What part of having to dispose of several demons and tromp through half of Europe? It was frankly a bother. A minor annoyance. There was no better thought than returning to the manor and settling with a nice cup of tea mixed with arsenic. To have his scientists safely at home, able to carry out his normal duties with minimum distraction from the woman. The thought of sharing the sofa with him. Reading a book aloud to him as he leans against his shoulder, dozing off quietly. Quiet breaths beside him, under him as he- Though, his dismisses and scolds himself for the thought as soon as it crosses his mind.

"Do you want something to eat, Flug?" Obed asks from the doorway, peach colored washcloth limp from his hands. Flug gives a small jolt and looks over at him, single eye visible from his cracked goggles wide and still tired looking.

"Oh," A hand comes up to rub at his face. "No, thank you." A small smile passes over his features as his eyebrows turn upwards at the ends. Obed nods and makes his way back towards the kitchen. BlackHat's eyebrows twitch downwards as he presses another bandage to his skin.

"You should eat something, Doctor." He says, focusing his eye on his hands. The muscles of Flug's shoulders shift as he raises his arms to rest on the back of the couch, subtle bumps along the back of his neck of his spine becoming more prominent as his head bows. 

"I believe this whole ordeal has lowered my appetite even more, Sir." He replies, hair falling to cover what little of his face had been left visible. The skin underneath his claws is warm and milk white. A freckle spotted his skin here and there, ribs barely poking from his sides made him look even more scrawny. He tries to recall a Flug from earlier in the year, leaning over a villain that had failed to pay in a timely manner. Even through the bag he could tell he was smiling sinisterly, could imagine his eyes squinted with pure glee. The giggles as he worked had sent small shivers down his spine. The glow of multicolored mixtures in needles caught his goggles in just the right manner to white out the lenses.

That man was a complete opposite of the man sitting before him. The opposite, and yet the same in an odd roundabout way. Both held the same softer shoulders, the same manner of speaking and holding himself. Yet he's never seen Flug so bare, in both manners of speaking. In the years he had worked for him, he had never been with out his bag, goggles, and gloves. The dress had always changed from occasion, but always modest and nicely fitting. Now his trousers were ripped, his fingers were warm and blood caught underneath his nails, and he had a hand carefully placed between his shoulder blades. 

Flug had always heavily guarded himself as well. Made sure to never indulge too deeply about his own personal interests and conflicts. Keeping what he did talk about science, work, or villainy related. As well as what the other two residence of the manor had been doing or what mess they made he needed to clean up. Now he seemed like a human, afraid of more than deadlines and... him. Like someone who had a childhood away from him, who had a favorite food, movie, song, shirt, blanket. 

"How're you feeling?" He asks, voice barely pushing above a whisper. He watches his head rise and stops still as his head turns towards him, green eyes catching his. 

"They don't hurt as much as a day days ago." He says, slowly rolling his shoulders, testing how much he could move them. That isn't what he meant. It was good to ear, comforting. But not exactly what he wanted to hear. He wanted him to tell him all he's been through, what he had to endure, what he wanted with is future, what he needed from him. Wanted to know everything there was to know, everything he wanted to give him. But with so many other people around, so many other ears, it would have to wait. 

"Perfect." Morning light mixes with the green, highlighting the caramel brown hints settled near his irises. Whether he was saying about his statement or eyes didn't matter. Both were. "I'll be speaking with the human men for a short while and come back to check on you."

"When will we be heading home?" Flug asks, hand reaching out but not yet grabbing his sleeve as he stands. BlackHat looks down at him, lips pulling into a small frown. 

"Soon, Doctor. Within the week. You need to heal and it requires a great deal of magic to travel so far." The words to mention _how much_ energy he had used to get here. How hard he had worked to make it here. But they die there as he turns away and heads deeper into the house. 

"Mr. Jefe," Ajah calls from the bottom of the stairs. "Do you have a moment?" Nodding, he follows the man up and into a bedroom, Obed already there. Briefly he wants to tell them to stop calling him that. That's _Flug's_ name for him. To use his proper title. But he had chosen to tell them this name. He had to lie in the grave he dug. 

"I understand if you would like to return home as soon as possible and be done with us." Obed says, sitting back on the edge on one of the two beds. One ankle crosses over the other as an arm reaches back to support his weight. 

"But we would appreciate our help in making sure that the Father and Berith can no longer target humans." Ajah continues, lower arms folded behind his back, fingers intertwined and fidgeting with each other. "We-"

"When?" He asks. A bewildered look passes over their faces. "When should I take care of them?" He clarifies, already itching to wrap a claw around both their necks and make them pay. Yes, getting home was a large priority. But making sure this _never_ happens again was top. To make every demon in Europe and every continent afraid at the mere whisper of his or Flug's name. 

"Whenever you're strong enough to." Ajah says. "We would do it ourselves if any of us other than Obed were strong enough or able to."

"No. I will, happily. I'm setting an example." He says, making his way back towards the door. 

"If I can ask," Obed interjects, standing from the bed. "What example exactly?" 

"To never even think for a moment that anyone can mess with my employees without encountering my wrath." A knowing look passes between the two men. Subtle enough to only show in their eyes and nothing else, but glaringly obvious to him. It wasn't appreciated, but he didn't care enough to bring it up as he usually might have. His ego had taken too much for him to embarrass himself in front of these humans. 

When he returns to the stairs, he pauses at the sound of Flug's laughter. A musical, joyful sound that he didn't deserve to hear. Turning around the corner and into the doorway, he stops in his tracks. Flug had moves from the couch to stand at one of the windows, hands laced firmly on the sill to help keep himself up. Cäcilie stood next to him, pointing outside and laughing with him. Her hand is on his back, carefully avoiding the bandages. 

"Did you see that?" She laughs, eyes searching outside. 

"Poor squirrel." He chuckles. The way his eyes wrinkle at the edges and his lips pull upwards into a another small laugh. It's heavenly to listen to, to see. He nearly draws away, turns his back to sight of it. Two green eyes make their way over to him, smile not fading or eyes widening in surprise. Instead waves at him. "Hello, Sir." 

"Did you speak with Obed and Ajah?" Cäcilie asks, turning away from the window as well. Nodding, he tucks his hands behind his back, forcing himself to look at the woman instead of Flug, looking at him expectantly. 

"Yes. I plan on going later in the afternoon to pay both the men of the church a visit." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha i know we didn't get to the other two this chapter like i said we would but uhh, please enjoy


	17. Heilig

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This story is on a temporary hiatus, this does not mean that it will discontinued. I do plan to pick this up at a later date once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When will I stop lying?  
> OKAY BUT LISTEN, we get to at least one of them lmao

"You're ready?" Ajah asks as he opens the door. BlackHat looks back, Flug was still asleep, laid on the couch with his arms tucked beneath his head. "He'll still be here when you get back."

"He better." He replies, making his way out of the door. The early morning sun caresses his skin, birds sing high in the trees, a few grey clouds loomed far off in the distance, blending together and whispering through light winds. Opening his hand down at his side he raises it and closes his hand into a fist. When he lowers it there's the distinct clack of his cane against the concrete pathway connecting the front door to the driveway. Ajah steps out behind him, closing the door with a tired sigh.

"The Father doesn't live too far from here." He says, pulling his over-sized coat tighter around himself. "He shouldn't be much of a problem either."

"It's the fallen angel that should be." He finishes, following after him as he starts down the road. 

"Is that what he is?" He asks, though doesn't look up to ask him to his face. BlackHat nods nevertheless. They continue in silence for a short while until he spots a human child across the street. Sat mid-sidewalk with two chunky toy cars in its sticky fingers, smashing the two together. He wonders briefly how many humans would toil away through their incredibly short lives without so much of a shred of supernatural encounters—or as much as they knew. How many could simply pass by a fae, or siren? None the wiser. What would have become of him if Flug had been one of these humans. Content with whatever little life he had before stumbling, rather crashing into, BlackHat Org. None of this would have happened, that's for sure. He tried to force a bitter taste in his mouth, _wasting all this time in a different country for some human you barely derive anything useful from. Even for an immortal this was all a waste._ Though, his thoughts seem to cause the bitter taste just by being thought, not by the anger he was supposed to be derived from them. 

Ajah slowly comes to a stop, visible arms wrapped around his waist and chin close to his chest. With a few fingers he motions to a quaint home across the street. A wooden cross painted gold hung from the front door. "There," He mutters, staring up through his lashes at the front of the building. "He should be in there. I'll wait out here in case Berith decides to finally start speaking to him."

Briefly, he thinks of prying, or telling him to fix his posture. He was getting a crick in his neck just looking at him. Despite this, he simply turns and heads towards the home. As his shoes touch down on the front lawn he can practically feel the angelic aura radiating from the building. It hit him nearly as hard as stepping into the church did. Saps the warmth from his dead skin and draws at the magic storing within him. He could already tell that he would need to rest after dealing with these two vermin. 

Lifting up his cane, he raps the handle against the door loudly, stepping back and running his claw over the brim of his hat, ensuring it sat straight on his head. There's a quiet noise behind the door followed by the sound of feet rapidly approaching; much too light to be the Father's. The doorknob wiggles a bit before the door opens to reveal a tiny little girl stood there. Her hair a dirty blonde and eyes a similar muddy color. 

"Momma says no more shoes are for sale." She says and goes to push the door closed. Shoving it back open with the end of his can he looks down at the little girl. Probably no more than eleven. Still naïve enough to open the door on her own, presumably without telling anyone. 

"I'm not here for that, child. I want the Father." He says. Pulling his cane back once he felt the push against it cease. She gives him a blank look before the light-bulb turns on and recognition flashes in her eyes. 

"Alex?" She asks. "Oh, he was putting on his fancy shoes to go see Esther. I hope it's okay if he's sad currently. I'll fetch him." She closes the door and the pitter-patter of bare feet disappear away from the door. Turning around he gives Ajah a disgruntled look. The other man simply stares, a slight shrug of one shoulder the only signal he was even looking at him. Then the doors open again and the Father nearly walks into him before taking a step back. 

"Alex, he's here to see you. I think he's sick like AJ was." She says, looking up at BlackHat. He stares right back before shifting his gaze to the Father. Who stares at him with fear and anger. 

"Very nice of you, Rosalie. Run along now." The Father ushers the little girl out the door. Bumping into BlackHat's outer thigh as she scampers off. 

"Father." He greets, grin threatening to spill out onto his lips. The Father looks at him with such contempt; rage, sorrow, disgust all muddled onto one face. _Delicious_. "I hope I don't need an appointment to meet with you so suddenly." Leaning to the side, he peers further into the house. Is that another child? What did this grown man need with so man spawnlings?

"What do you want, demon? Who are you?" He demands quietly, moving to block his view. BlackHat leans away, frowning. Of course he wouldn't recognize him. But it put a small, temporary damper on his fun. 

"I think you know your own personal sins very intimately, Father." Shifting his weight onto his cane in front of him, a gloved claws slowly tightening around it. "Executed on Holy grounds nonetheless." The Father's face turns an angry rouge. Eyebrows and nose twisting and twitching with ire. 

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" He snaps haughtily and swings the door closed. It stops with a thud against his cane again and BlackHat pushes his way through. The air nips at his exposed skin and presses against the glass of his monocle. Looking around he takes note of the children's coats hung from hooks on the walls and tiny pink shoes the size of his smallest claw on the ground. "What are you- You need to get out!" 

"Did you take the feral child from here? Or did she come like the rest of them?" He asks absently as he moves further into the house. The Father is hot on his tail; huffing and puffing with clenched fists. Stepping through an open doorway he enters what appears to be a living room. TV playing a muted cartoon, toys littering the floor, and a homework packet open on the couch. 

"I don't know-" He starts, stopping in the doorway. 

"Certainly seem to have enough children for one to not notice a few slipping away." He comments, flipping the packet closed to find it about writing in cursive lettering. Easy. "Young enough to line up with how long her feralization seems to be." He continues, smiling at the Father's irascibility.

"You've marked one of them then, haven't you? Come to up end our entire attempt to save them for one little play toy?" He snaps, moving forwards and snatching the homemade packet away. 

"You have a very stereotypical view of us, don't you?" He comments, turning towards him again. A deal deal of joy blooms in his chest at the sight of his quivering hands. "No, I haven't marked anyone. Though, I am interest if you were the ones to kill any of their mates or forcibly removed them." He says, moving to continue further into the house when a hand on his arm stops him mid-step. His fingers burn even through his sleeve and he nearly reels back, snarl at the back of his throat when he composes himself again. 

"What do you want?" The Father asks, fingers tightening around his forearm. "Because if you're here to just drop in and mock us then I should exercise you."

"Have you spoken to the woman?" He asks in return, pulling his arm free. "You should ring her. Or maybe the _other_ demon. He might know something by now." Stepping away, skepticism crossing his face as he reaches behind him and pulls a phone from his back pocket. As he dials Esther's number, BlackHat thinks how stupid humans look staring down at tiny little screens. Or perhaps, this one in particular. Shoulders hunched and face close to the screen; suddenly so scrunched up around this small device. He un-scrunches as it begins to ring. Eyes search the room as he listens to the evenly timed ringing before settling back on BlackHat as he's sent to voicemail. 

"What did you do?" He asks, as his thumb jams down onto the disconnect button. A shrill beep sounds as the call ends and the Father scrunches up again, dialing a different number. This time the person on the other side picks up. "Hello, Berith?" Stepping forwards quickly he pulls the phone from his fingers, and just as he goes to protest and reach for it, clenches his claws. It crunches loudly in his hands as it snaps into several different pieces.

"I didn't say you could call the fallen angel." He taunts, dropping the remains onto the ground. "I want you to hear it from me." Glass drops to the ground with a brilliant glitter as the plastic outer-shell thumps on the carpet. The Father stares at him, teeth chewing into his bottom lip. 

"What do you want from me?" He repeats. "What the fuck do you want?!" BlackHat steps forwards, grabbing him by the collar and lifting upwards so only his toes were able to touch the ground. His hands come up to grasp at his claw as his eyes widen. 

"I've come to have you reap the seeds in which you've planted. Your god has foretold the day you would come to bear the fruits of which you've planted. Today is that day. When I am through with you they'll have nothing but a handful of teeth to identify your mangled corpse with. And that won't even be enough." His mouth hangs open like a fish as he squirms, prying uselessly at his fist and trying to pull himself away. "Would you like to know what happened to the woman?"

"You- You don't scare me foul beast-" He begins but stops with a choked noise as he's lifted higher. BlackHat stares up at him, his own amusement not yet dwindling. Oh, the things he wished to do to him for even facilitating Flug's imprisonment. But alas, they needed to reach Berith before he caught wind of the Father's murder as well. He would be the one he would really sink his claws into. 

"You humans have very thin, soft outer-shells that don't work to protect your inner workings at all. So it was very easy to sink a claw into her stomach, about... Here." He motions loosely over his rounded stomach. The man kicking his feet in an attempt to get away. "And to make matters worse for your poor evolutionary traits, there's no defense mechanism once you get past the skin. So pulling out a few things was child's play." He closes his claw in front of his stomach and pulls it towards himself.

"While I did need the nourishment, I thought even her blood and meat to be too dirty. But the ferals downstairs wouldn't be as picky." The immense joy he derives from the realization and horror that makes itself evident on his features should last in his mind for a good while. The man's squirming worsens and his hands tighten around his holding him up. "I took her downstairs and opened all the cages. I haven't check on her, though I believe your associate has. I felt the seal break mid day yesterday. Hopefully for the rest of your species in this area they were killed or will be soon. They eat most indiscriminately."

"Stop!" He screams, kicking at his legs. "I don't want to hear this!" The amusement drains from BlackHat's face. He turns and shoves him down into the ground, rubbing his face into the glass in the carpet. He hisses and writhes beneath him, hands reaching out and grasping aimlessly for something, anything. 

"Like they didn't want to be there? Like how they didn't want to become ferals? How they don't want to be doomed to the fate _you_ chose for them?" He didn't know why he was so suddenly angry about what they had done. But all he could imagine was Flug still down there, marked and slowly turning. None of the ferals or Flug had gone in-depth of what happened happened in the cellar. But when the male human Obed had prodded they all suddenly retreated into themselves and diverted topics into meaningless and trivial things. He had tried once to ask Flug, and the man had looked out side and noted the shapes of the clouds. Hand shaking as he pointed out the window. 

"We were saving them!" He pleads. "You wouldn't understand, you're one of the things we're saving them from!" 

"Saving?!" BlackHat laughs, dipping his head forward and shaking his head. "You- Saving?!" He laughs again, anger still bubbling up in his chest. Saving them from a possible plush life, safe behind a demonic mate and taking them to... That? "You don't know-" 

"Father?" A child's voice interrupts. He stands in the doorway to the living room, no higher than BlackHat's knees and peering up at them through a black bowl cut that covered his eyes and nearly reached his nose.

"Ah, Emil!" The Father greets nervously, turning his head awkwardly to look at the boy. BlackHat's smile drops as he lets the man drop back to the floor. He stumbles backwards, hands flailing at his sides. "How are you, my boy?" He asks, glancing over at BlackHat before going to kneel beside him. "I thought you were taking a nap?"

"I had a nightmare, Father. I wanted to come and work on my writing." He fidgets with the bear in his hands. Short green fur brushes over his pudgy fingers as its button eyes stare into the ground. "Who's this?" He asks, pushing at his hair and looking up at BlackHat. He stares back down at the child, frown pulled deep into his features. 

"Oh? This?" He falters looking back at BlackHat. Seeming to expect him to be smiling at the child, still joyful, or ready to interject and traumatize the child in some way. When his worried glare is met with silence he turns back to Emil, expression turning back into a smile. "He's from the church, he just came by to visit."

"He was holding you up. And your face in bloody." Emil notes curiously. 

"We're just playing a game. Like you and Jessi do." He says and stands. His steps are awkward as he makes his way to the couch and grabs the packet from the cushions. "Now, why don't you run along and join the rest of the children outside? The fresh air'll do you good." He hands it over and brushes his hair to each side of his eyes, a few strands stuck between them like stubborn logs stuck in the center of a river. 

"Okay!" He takes the packet and tucks it into his chest, covering it with the toy before making his way towards the front door, barefoot and smiling. The Father remains still for a few moments, even after the door is closed again and the child is gone. 

"You don't have a lick of knowledge about what you're messing with, Alexander." BlackHat finally finishes. Stepping forwards he avoids the broken phone to stand behind him. "Do you know what happens if you kill a human mate without killing the demonic one?"

"We killed most of them. It doesn't matter." He snaps, turning back towards him. "They wither and die like animals."

"Humans do. For all your resilience you're incredibly feeble. But no, demons don't. They first lose the ability to properly control their powers. Then the begin to lose their minds. You might think your ferals were uncontrollable and crazy, but a Rager will level a whole city in one night and still be hungry. They could slaughter half of your world's entire population and still want more. They'll only stop when killed, and no human is strong enough to kill a Rager." 

"What does it matter. The Lord will take care of them in the Rapture." He steps away, hands shaking again. "You'll all die in the Rapture."

"You think you'll be allowed onto that boat, or into the gates? For what you've done?" He laughs. 

"Yes! For what I've done against your kind!" He tries to shove against his chest, to get him away. To give himself the security of physical space. BlackHat doesn't budge a muscle against the push, grin faltering.

"Twelve. A twelve year old and unmated man. What 'influence' do those possess?" He asks, grabbing his shirt again. 

"She was defiled by one of _you_!" He yells, pushing again and again. "And that man was tainted by your influence. He doesn't know right from wrong or what he wants. He'll do anything you like him to if he thinks it'll keep him alive!" The Father screams bloody murder as his cane slams down onto his foot, two loud cracks fill the room. He tries to crumple to the floor, to get away with his good foot, but he's held in place by the front of his once nicely ironed button-up. 

"You believe that woman's mad rambling? There is no such thing and a 'psychological mark'! Do you even realize how they work?! What they're supposed to do?!" He throws him to the ground, relishes in the sight of him terrified and beneath him. Sprawled on his back, with his elbows supporting him. Cheek and forehead bloody and glittering with small glass shards. Perhaps the ferals would have enjoyed this sight as much as he did. 

"Get away foul demon!" He yelps as he stands over him. A hand clumsily comes to his chest and pulls at the silver chain around his thick throat until the cross is revealed. At the sight of it his eye and skin burn. It felt as though he had been submerged into a salty ice bath, held down until he took a breath of frigid water that filled his lungs and drenched his insides. Pain soon follows as the man holds the bottom of it and up to him. "In the name of the Holy Spirit! Begone!" It felt as though his head would explode. The lavaliere burns against his skin as it begins to quickly drain from the effort of maintaining this form. 

Reaching forwards, he growls as he draws closer to the cross. It feels as though his skin might melt off as he grabs his arm and squeezes. His hand releases the cross as his radius and ulna shatter in his grip. The burning eases slightly as the piece of jewelry falls back onto his chest. A horrible noise escapes him as his fingers twitch, eyes wide and staring in horror.

“The Lord is my refuge and my fortress, my God; on Him I lean and rely, and in Him I confidently trust.” He mutters, watching BlackHat's claws dig in and disappear into his skin. "Loving God, I pray that you will comfort-" Human screams always reminded him of a feral animal. They crumpled and died like them as well. 

"Tell me, Alexander, what are marks for? How they work. Since you're so knowledgeable." He leans over him, digging his claws deeper into his arm. Blood warm against his skin as it slowly creeps down the Father's arm. 

"You-" He gasps in pain, eyes closing as his head turns away. "They're supposed to bind a person to a demon. They steal their soul and damn them to eternal torture for their own gain. No human actually wants to become marked by a demon, you all get into their heads and make them think they do!" Another scream as something tears and snaps inside his arm. "You're getting angry because I'm right! You know he's terrified for his life whenever you're near. He'll do anything to stay alive. You can see his fear, can't you. Makes you feel- Fuck!" Writhing beneath him he throws his head back against the floor, cursing and twitching his blue fingers. 

"Continue, Father. You haven't finished." He snaps, hovering a hand over his chest.

"Makes you feel powerful, doesn't it?" Sneering through the tears and pain he looks up at him with squinted eyes. Face drained of all color, his breaths labored. "You know he's so tightly wrapped around your finger that he wont protest to being marked, just because _you_ want it."

"Enough." Letting go of his arm it drops to the ground limply. "You have no idea what you're talking about." The Father grasps at his arm, bringing it to his chest. Blood stains his shirt and skin as he tries to press at the punctures with is good hand. 

"You know it." He pants, fingers white at the force he's pressing down with. "What're you going to do with him when you take him away from here? You'll chain him to your bedpost, feed him once a day. None of you know what a human needs to survive. You'll kill him and then what? You've gone through all this trouble for nothing. A dead body." In a fit of rage he draws his claws down the expanse of his chest and stomach, digging them in deeper the further he went down. The blood gushes, staining the shirt and spreading at an even pace. Soon his once cream shirt is now a deep crimson and soaked. 

"You think what you've done is any better treatment?! Caging them and chaining them to old mattresses is better than whatever he will return home to?!" The Father laughs. A panicked sound.

"There is no home with you! You're just a demon!" Growling BlackHat claws at his chest until he hits bone. Underneath him the Father screams and cries, pushing against him with his bloodied hand. Grabbing at it he really only meant to push it out of his way, but he new he had grabbed it too hard when the fingers and palm go limp in his touch as the bones break. Dropping the broken hand to the side he returns to his chest. Grabbing at his rib-cage he pulls until  they begin to snap away. Each one removed he jerks underneath him, shrieking something horrible at the sound alone and sight of piling ribs at his side. 

Leaning back he stops to take a look at his handy work. The Father's chest clawed open for the world to see, jagged pieces of bones curling up from behind two lungs. Organs always reminded him of deflated balloons. Or roadkill not yet dead and trying to crawl away with it's hind legs crushed and entrails dragging behind it. His heart pumps rapidly as lungs inhale and exhale in at a similar pace. Pathetic and vulnerable he can do nothing more than moan and whine, bleeding everywhere like a spilled glass. Fuzzy eyes stare up at the ceiling, face paper white. There was no point in begging. He seemed to know even this in his pained haze. No way would he be able to survive this unless BlackHat himself undid the damage. But he had already dug his grave deep enough to not see the top anymore. 

First BlackHat pops his lungs, stabbing at this with his index fingers until they deflated like sad party decorations. As the Father begins to gasp and struggle for breath he takes his heart in his hand and pulls.

* * *

Ajah looks up and down the road for probably the thousandth time. He could hear the Father screaming from across the street. BlackHat needed to hurry before somebody called to police. Not that he didn't think he could kill whatever officer was thrown his way. But that would be so much worse of a mess than whatever predicament they were already in. Suddenly the house goes silent, the sound of a bird singing not too far away suddenly deafening. The door opens and BlackHat steps out, clothing immaculate and cane in his hand as it had been when he walked in. He walks towards him slowly, eye and even thinner slit- nearly invisible against the deepening grey of his eye- and blood dripped from his chin and mouth. Probably not his- most likely not his.

"Did you-" He cuts himself off. No matter how much he wished to see him dead, how many times he had thought of driving a steak knife through his throat and running, it was an entirely new thing to think he was actually dead. Terror and joy blossom in his chest like weeds that appear overnight. 

"Children live there." Is his answer instead. His expression is perplexed as he pulls a grey handkerchief from inside his coat and cleans his face with small dabs. 

"He helped poor parents by letting their children live there until they had a steady job." Turning away from the house he starts towards Berith's home. Obed had promised to call 'Momma Mary' and inform her to not let the children return home. She was the woman of the house and unaware of the Father's on-goings in the church. Hopefully. Momma was a nice woman and was genuine with her intentions to help the children. 

"And the children will be relocated after this?" Why was he concerned with this? He certainly was the most peculiar demon he's encountered. Though, that is ignoring the exact type of demon he had been solely exposed to in his time aware of demons. 

"Hopefully, Momma can continue to look after them until their parents are able to take them back in. But they'll be temporarily relocated while the Father's body- presuming you left something- and death is investigated. She may move, as Momma is a spiritual woman with all sorts of superstitions." The brush of his arms against his stomach reminds him of where he was going. Berith wasn't the demon to mark him, but he had tried many times to leave a temporary one. It seemed to be a game to him, which humans he could get close enough to from the church to mark up. Especially if he knew it would wind him up.

"Superstitions is what kept your species alive through most of your evolution." BlackHat counters, staring disinterestedly down the road as he follows not far behind him; though his pace more of a stroll than one might have when going to murder the second person for the day. His cane tapped on the concrete with every other step. 

"Superstitions is what made your kind powerful." They both enter into silence after that, contemplative and resigned. Somehow it felt like a walk into death's arms, although walking to any of their homes felt as though he were a prisoner carrying the rope onto the stands for his hanging. BlackHat seemed to be thinking about whatever he usually thought about whenever conversations lulled and silence followed when hands have nothing to do. His conscious didn't seem as heavy with the actions yet to come. He was probably thinking of Flug again.

Everyone had been him bandaging his back. The way he stared and handled the man was in such a doting and careful manner one would be surprised the human didn't have teeth marks on his throat already. In fact when he first met the man, though the marks were faint they were plenty and strong as they seemed to have lasted a few days without being replaced by new ones. He had paid close attention during the cleansing for a permanent mark, but there was no supernatural scar on his body. The burns stretched across the entirety of the left of his body, the other half littered with smaller, unrelated ones. But no tell tale mark that tied him to any demon. He was a chick filled with a room of alley cats. 

"He'll be expecting us at this point, I suppose." BlackHat says calmly, looking rather bored with the conversation he himself started. "He's had time to start preparing defenses." 

"You can handle it, though?" He asks, looking back towards him. Features pull into offense and mild anger. The comment having rubbed his pride the wrong way.

"Of course. He is but a fallen angel. They wish their ties to Heaven gone so that they may have a fraction of the power some of us have." 

"And, if I can ask, what exactly are you?"

"Much older and stronger than you're kind will ever be able to truly grasp." The answer was in no way satisfactory. And quite cookie-cutter of him. But it seemed neither were in the mood for deep, poetic conversations about origins and meanings. "You all have guesses as to where angels came from, beings like those of us simply do not just become. It takes certain events to create something demonic. Berith is a toddler compared to me in age." 

"I suppose we're all akin to infants than?"

"Very much."

"That must make demons marking humans very awkward to explain." The remark was more of a joke. He was aware humans were like the rich bringing a tiger into their home. Exotic and rare to see, difficult to handle and often neglected as a result. What he wouldn't give to be one again. BlackHat, however, seems to take this seriously and lapses into another silence. The conversation has no further chance to advance as they approach the street in which Berith's house sat contently in the middle of. 

A renewed sense of determination passes over BlackHat's features as he catches sight of the building. Ajah stops at the turn, looking back at him as he tucks the lavaliere underneath his collar. The item practically glowed through his clothes with demonic magic. It had dimmed from when he had entered the Father's home but still glowed a bright angry red.

"Try not to destroy the house. We don't need to police on us, especially if you want to leave soon." BlackHat nods, eyebrows knit together as he continues past him. His cane taps quietly in time with his steps as he crosses the street, looking like someone going to visit a friend for the evening. He wonders what else he was blasé about as he watches the handle of his walking aid tap thrice against the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> might have gotten a 0 on three assignments for different classes so im de-stressing with mörder

**Author's Note:**

> Kudos and comments are very much appreciated, thank you!!


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